Best Destinies
by tonystarktheautobot
Summary: James T. Kirk, Leonard McCoy, and Spock began the five year mission as co-workers; became the closest of friends; and drifted away from each other at its end. What happened? What drew them together, and what split them apart? The answers lie within. Covers each episode in TOS, detailing the rise and fall of Star Fleet's best and brightest. Kirk/Bones/Spock, slash.
1. Trapped

**Episode One **

_**The Man Trap**_

Sparks and stabs of agony pricked his head, tore into his chest and made breathing become a burning, horrid sensation. The pain was so great that memory, thought, and consciousness fled in its wake, terrified and overwhelmed by the maddening rush. But no… no, he couldn't give in, because he was needed, he needed to get up, he had to…

Lifting his head hurt more than anything, made his throat burn and his head explode with sharp, excruciating feeling. Sight and sound escaped him; everything was too bright, sounds too high pitched and squealing, making his ears feel raw. But as he forced himself to fight the pain and return to consciousness, memory returned as well.

The first thing he heard when the squealing stopped was a deadening _thunk_. Kirk forced dry, burning eyes upward, and his gaze fell on Leonard McCoy, still using the wall as support, his shaking hands finally having lost the strength to hold his phaser. It was as if that moment had unraveled him, as the doctor immediately slumped to the floor, head falling back against the wall, shoulders barely shaking.

_Bones_. How had he let it come to this? How had he failed to handle this in a way that spared his friend this heartbreak? Suddenly he remembered the presence of a third, another he'd failed to protect, and his weary gaze turned to find Spock, settled on the ground, his placid expression back in place but weakened by the remnants of emotion – tense jaw, widened eyes, clenched hands upon the carpet. His burning gaze lifted and met Kirk's and the Captain felt a burst of shame. _I should have prevented this. I'm the captain, and I had to be rescued by my own men! Bones had to…_

"Bones." Stumbling to his feet, Kirk didn't make it a single step before he collapsed on the ground and an even greater shame scalded his throat. Bones and Spock were both up in an instant, seemingly broken from their reverie, kneeling at either side of their leader.

"Jim, _dammit_, Jim!" McCoy gripped his upper arm tight enough to bruise, sweat-laden hands still trembling even as they gripped him.

Spock was promptly at his other side, better coordinated and composed but when he spoke his voice was tense, low, tremulous. "Captain, I would not recommend moving without assistance."

Kirk could hear them, could hear the words, but didn't comprehending past the emotions he could hear in their tones, even Spock's. He had failed. The youngest captain in the fleet, still relatively fresh and early on in the journey, and here he was floundering in front of his SIC and CMO, jelly-legged and sweating and so naïve. He'd thought to take it on alone, and he'd… damn it all!

Their hands were lifting him, one on each of his shoulders and under his arms: McCoy's thin and deceptively strong, still trembling but holding so tight as if terrified Kirk might slip away, refusing to let him go without a fight; and Spock, burning hotter than any human, with strength greater than anyone else on the ship, holding him gently, very much aware of his strength and expressing it just so, a supportive and unwavering figure at Kirk's side.

What had he done to deserve these two, he wondered as darkness threatened to take him again; What had he done to deserve this unfaltering loyalty and support?

* * *

He couldn't stop and think, not about a damn thing, because as soon as he did, his legs would fall out from under him.

"Dammit, Jim," Bones muttered again, a huff under his breath, as his captain succumbed to unconsciousness. How many times would James T. Kirk throw himself at danger without thought for himself before it would sink in that he wasn't immortal? That his death would eventually catch up to him and would be a permanent inescapable fate? That in dying he would leave behind people who cared, who cared a _lot_ dammit…

"Doctor, if I may, it would be logical for me to take over supporting the Captain. My strength is vastly superior to your own, and you seem to be on the verge of a panic attack."

At the Vulcan's dulcet baritone, Bones snapped, "Well, gee, you think? It's not like I didn't just kill Nancy and almost watch my best friend die!" _Because of me_, he couldn't bring himself to say._ Because I was lost in a memory and couldn't do it. _

It was no surprise when Spock simply quirked an eyebrow, as he was wont to do, and move his left arm to wrap around Kirk's shoulders. But when he tried taking on the rest of the Captain's weight, the doctor stubbornly held on, just barely refraining from tugging Jim out of his grasp by remembering that that would help no one, least of all the Captain.

"I may not be green blooded or pointy-eared but I can damn well carry my own damn patient!" The doctor insisted as they stumbled down the hall. Well, he and the unconsciousness Captain stumbled; Spock managed in his infuriating way to keep his composure despite everything that had happened and was happening and if that didn't just make his blood boil…

Spock didn't force the issue, and they stumbled along to sick bay well enough. Chapel, bless her heart, let her eyes widen but immediately got to work. They escorted Jim to a bed and laid him down, and McCoy turned to take over. Simultaneously he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder and a voice.

"Doctor, I would not recommend your participation at this time." Spock, from where he stood opposite McCoy, began. Chapel quirked an eyebrow in an oddly similar gesture and smirked, obviously thinking the same thing.

"What's it to you, Spock?" He spat, burned out and exhausted and frayed at every nerve. "When did you become a member of my staff?"

"He's not, but I am," Chapel began. "And I agree. You look a mess." And didn't he know it, but that was Jim on the bed behind him, Jim who needed him. Chapel seemed to understand because she nodded. "Don't worry sir. You've trained your people well – we'll take care of him."

Too exhausted to fight the doctor gave in with dark grumbles and slumped shoulders, walking on auto-pilot out of the room. He didn't go far; McCoy collapsed on a chair nearby, burying his face in his hands, fighting the loss of control that was surely incoming. Thoughts were building in the back of his mind behind a dam which kept him from acknowledging them; it was a technique he used to focus on the work, on saving lives, and not on whose life was in the balance or what was happening around him, who was dead or dying. But Chapel had taken the work from him and there was no distraction and his control was steadily slipping.

"Doctor."

Tension built in the human's spine, his shoulders, and his already dry, sore throat tightened. McCoy lifted tired eyes towards the First Officer, narrowed his gaze and felt his lip curl.

"You mentioned earlier that you had killed Nancy." His heart stutters at the words, his eyes narrowing on the Vulcan's trim, composed, seemingly unbothered form. "That is illogical. That which you killed was the creature who took Nancy's life, not the woman herself."

McCoy can't help it. On a normal day his patience for Vulcan literalism is low, and today his patience is raw, burned by loss and death. "Don't you think I know that Spock? You think anybody with round ears is dumb enough to not realize the monster sucking salt out of their best friend's skin is the same as the woman he loved?" Scoffing he gestures wildly with his arms, leaning back, never allowing Spock a chance to reply. "If you'd let yourself feel for a damn minute you might think it wouldn't matter if it was really her, because it looked like her, because it was just as final, just as –" He voice cracks and he stops mid-yell, passion coloring his face as he is forced to remember the truth. Nancy is dead. Has been for months, killed by the creature who stole her face. He may have only shot a look-a-like, but it was her, what was left of her, and she's gone…

His head falls into his hands again and his shoulders shake, but he doesn't cry, not in front of the Vulcan. The tears and sobs escape only when the med bay doors open and close. Despite the fact he knows Spock can hear him with those damn huge ears, though he knows he's not alone in the room, McCoy succumbs to the knowledge of his losses, of those gone and those who just barely escaped the same fate.

* * *

First Officer Spock patrols the halls of the ship, stalking through with urgency not typically present in his actions between ship emergencies. Those who pass are silent; very few acknowledge him. Most try to rush by, as if he might bite should they linger too long. Some days, it does create a flicker of feeling, of blasted annoyance, which Spock shoves away without a second's thought. Today, he finds the lack of interaction acceptable. He would rather not interact with anyone at all.

He will return to his duties, momentarily, just… not yet. Not just now, with his control fracturing, his emotions pulsating and thrumming beneath his skin. But he does have control, though strenuous. He can keep himself in check, but he would rather not wrestle with it on the bridge. So he walks, and contemplates.

He attempts to think over his current projects, his duties, his work, but images swirl in front of his eyes unbidden. Kirk's face, sweat laden and panicked, gripped by alien strength. McCoy's usually bright eyes widened in horror and pain, his usually steady, firm hands trembling and slick. Kirk, always so composed and kept together, struggling to stand or breathe. McCoy, typically emotional in violent outbursts, falling prey to human feelings of mourning and grief.

He cannot shake these images, no matter how strong his control. He can suppress his fear for the Captain's health, his concern for the Doctor's mental state. Logically, it will take time for them to heal, but they will. He arrived in time, the Captain was saved, and the danger over. So why did the scenario play continuously through his mind's eye, focusing upon those two men with their so human reactions?

He remembers vividly his first interactions with both men. Kirk, replacing Captain Pike, a man Spock had found to be an acceptable captain, despite his human failings; and his first interactions with his new captain, the surprise at his intellect, his talent for chess, and the only human on the ship who could match him.

Then his first physical with the Doctor, which had somehow irascibly fallen apart into bitter arguing, arguments which seemed to have never ended between them; paused temporarily, only to pick up as soon as they were again sharing the same space.

Two humans who, for all their abilities and intelligence, represented that which he held in least regard, acted in ways which were anathema to him; now, Spock wonders if perhaps his interactions with them and the others have somehow weakened his shields, his control. Why else would their emotional faces flash before his eyes, again and again, despite the danger having passed and their lives having been saved? Why did that brief moment between safety and death still concern him so? It was illogical to focus on what might have occurred, for it had not. And yet… and yet…

Unable to fully return to his previous state of control, Spock retired to his room to meditate. He would find as little success in the act as he had in the hall, storming like thunder, sending others rushing out of the way even more so than usual.


	2. Old Bones

**Episode Three**

**Old Bones**

**Post Charlie X and Where No Man Has Gone Before**

Gary Mitchell.

Kirk stared out into space with the name on his tongue where it would stay. He couldn't say it, and he couldn't let it go. He gripped the glass in his hand tight and resisted the urge to throw it against the wall.

Gary Mitchell.

He owes – owed the man his life. They were friends, the best of friends, for fifteen years. They worked together, fought together, laughed and played together. And Kirk had killed him, crushed him under a rock. If he gripped the glass much tighter it would shatter.

The door to the room slid open, and Jim didn't bother looking over to see who it was. If it was just a member of the crew, they would notice him and turn around and leave, as they had been for the past hour. If they stayed, then…

A body came over to stand next to his. "Hey, Jim."

… then they had to be Bones.

They were shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the vastness of space, Kirk's eyes narrowed to thin points.

"What could I have done, Bones?" He murmured quietly, his pose tense, shoulders bunched up. "What could I have done to save him? To bring him back?"

"There was nothing you or anyone could have done, Jim." The doctor says this with a sigh even as Jim turns violently towards him.

"We were friends, close friends, surely there must have been something I could have said to reach him, something I could have done!" Gesturing wildly with his arms, Jim stormed away, pacing the room. "For a moment, just a moment, I saw him as he was, before all this. He said my name – he called to me! Like he was asking me for help!" Red faced he spun round and began to shout. "And I killed him! I killed him!"

"You did your duty!" Bones shouted back, not quite as loudly or passionately. "You saved your whole crew from becoming the toys of a mad man who thought he was a God!"

"That mad man was my friend!"

"Was, Jim!" Bones stormed towards him, gripping his shoulders tight. "Not anymore. The man you knew died the moment his eyes changed and he turned dark. You didn't kill him Jim. He was already dead."

The knowledge, the heavy realization he'd been avoiding, that this was damn serious and Gary really was gone, hit him like a freight train and he collapsed, all the tightly bound strength in him just fading as he slumped against the wall. "He saved me once, Bones." The captain mumbled, eyes falling closed. "I was about to die, and he came back for me, dragged me to safety. He refused to leave me behind and I – I can't help but think…"

"That you left him behind?" Bones ended softly, his eyes searching Jim's face for something. Jim nodded slowly, feeling sweat build on his palms. The doctor's hands squeezed his shoulders, and then pulled him towards the table in the center of the room. He allowed his friend to sit him down, and then Bones sat across from him.

"Jim, Gary knew what he was signing up for; and so did you. You both knew something like this might happen. And if Gary was at all the kind of friend you say he was then I know he'd have understood what you did. And in your place, he'd of done the same."

Feeling almost dizzy, light headed, Jim nodded. "He said as much, when he was still somewhat sane." He spoke quietly, feeling the reality still settling in his bones. He was heavy, heavy with the weight of grief and duty and loss. The mission had only just started and this happened, this terrible thing. "I wanted him to be my first officer. We talked about it all the time, back in the academy. The two of us working together, searching the stars…" Scoffing, Jim gripped his knees until his knuckles were bone white. "Now he's not even here."

Bones reached out and put a hand on top of Jim's, but he didn't say anything. Neither of them said a thing, even though those words hung heavy between them: Gary Mitchell. Gone. But Bones was here, and Jim had a job to do. It would have to be enough.

The doors to the room opened, and both heads turned to see Spock standing in the doorway.

* * *

The First Officer had been aware, in theory, of the closeness of the Captain and his CMO. But the sight he came upon when he entered the observation deck and saw Jim and McCoy holding hands made him realize that perhaps the relationship went further than he thought.

A sudden stab of emotion cut through him but he blocked it out before it could be completely analyzed. Jim and Bones had moved apart, their faces turning the color of their red blood, and Jim stood and moved around the table.

"Something you need, Mr. Spock?" He sounded cordial, almost himself, but there were slight signs in his posture, his tone, and most of all his eyes that made it clear he was not all right. Spock realized that it was likely he might not be, for a long time.

"No, sir. I merely wished to ascertain your condition." He glanced from the captain to the doctor, as if the other man's face might reveal something about Jim's mental state. "Are you all right?"

Jim smiled a little, but it was weak and tired. "I will be." He insisted. "With time."

Spock nodded, gripping his hands behind his back and facing an inner struggle of what to do or say. "I… am sorry for your loss." Jim's eyes widened marginally (the doctor's considerably) and he smiled a little more strongly.

"Thank you, that's very kind coming from you." Spock realized it was a comment but thought it a somewhat backhanded one, but he said nothing. With one last nod, he turned and left, and went back about his duties.

It was when he next attempted to meditate that the unnamed, unexamined emotion of that initial moment of seeing the two together reared up again, strong and swift and overwhelming. It was coppery, tense and shuddering through his mind, setting him off balance, pushing at his control. He felt fire rise in his gut and a sense of light headedness touch his mind. It was the most boggling and frustrating combination of emotions, and a most complex one to overcome.

Overcome it he did, though only by acknowledging it and then shoving it down into the deep. But it was with the acknowledgement that he was hit with surprise and even confusion. He found the emotion to be something akin to jealously – not like that which came with possession or a desire to have, but something more… somber. Tinged with bitterness. It was a complex, multifaceted feeling he could not comprehend, and he couldn't honestly define its source. He only knew that it was the sight of Dr. McCoy and the Captain, hands touching on Jim's knees that had incited it.

If only he knew why.

* * *

Hours after sitting with Jim on the observation deck, McCoy sat in his office with his own bottle of sorrows, up way past the hour he should have been, drinking more than he should've. It was a ridiculous thing, to feel so melodramatically remorseful at his age, especially given that he'd suffered no losses as Jim had, and had no valid reason to feel so. He was a foolish old man mourning not what he'd lost, but what he'd never had or would have.

The sight of Jim in grief over his close friend only reminded him of the life his friend had outside of Bones, the people he knew and loved. Jim had a family, had friends, and a lover on every planet. Bones was just one of many, just another companion on the Captain's long voyage.

But Leonard? He had nobody. He had a daughter he was never allowed to see and an ex-wife that hated his guts. His family was all dead, the people he'd once called friends long turned away. The only person who gave a shit about him was James T. Kirk.

He knew it was unhealthy, to be so attached to one person, to be dependent upon them for all your companionship, but there was no helping it. There wasn't a soul on the boat besides Jim who knew him and could put up with him the way the Captain could. Bones snorted as he took another long swig from the bottle. To be honest, he wasn't sure why the man did it. He half expected Jim to give up on him any day now. That day would be the worst of his life, second only to losing Joanna.

With that thought, he remembered Spock. The damnable Vulcan, so intelligent and powerful and mysterious, so everything Jim ever went for in his partners. The difficult ones were his favorite, more so if they were alien. Bones had noticed the signs, the way Jim's eyes lit up at the sight of him, how he went out of his way to see him. They were together almost constantly it seemed. Jim used to spend almost every evening with Bones, sharing a meal or just stopping by to talk for a moment. The doctor was lucky to see him once a week now. Between the work load, and all the time he was spending sharing meals and playing chess with the Vulcan, he didn't have time for 'Bones'.

Spock. Leonard could admire him, sure. He was quick as a whip and funny when he wanted to be, and not nearly as emotionless as he wanted the world to think. He was damned smart, and that was half his appeal, though he was hardly a slacker in looks either. There was no comparison between Spock and Bones, oh no – when it came down to it, Leonard knew who Jim would want.

And Jim? Jim was a genius in his own right, and charismatic, and passionate, and a boyishly handsome man. Spock would be lucky to have him.

Leonard McCoy? Leonard McCoy was a tired, washed up old man, with aching hands and a burned out heart, who loved his best friend and his biggest rival with equal intensity. Oh, he'd always loved Jim. Perhaps from the moment they'd met that charming smile and eventually, heartbreaking vulnerability reeled him in. Spock, the challenge that he was, made the doctor want to tie him down and shut him up, the fun way. Oh, he wanted them both.

He would have neither, and they'd be happy with each other, once they got their heads out of their asses and figured it out. Bones went to drink more from the bottle and frowned to find it empty. He let it drop to the floor, somewhat surprised when it didn't break. His head fell back, and the combination of drink, sorrow, and utter exhaustion put him to sleep.

He dreamt of a handsome smile and bright eyes; of dark passionate orbs and fiery discourse. He dreamt of two wonderful, beautiful men making love on a bed of bones, long dead and cold.


	3. To Want and Fear Wanting

**Episode Five**

**To Want and Fear Wanting**

**Post The Naked Time and The Enemy Within**

It was completely unfair.

There, lying before him was a James Kirk who wasn't James Kirk; or more correctly, was part of him, the instinctive part of him which chafed beneath logic and society and order. A James Kirk just as beautiful and passionate as the Jim Bones knew, without the mind and the soul. Just burning flame, just passion, writhing on the table, and it was so unfair to subject him to this.

Bones watched his patient thrash as he prepared another sedative, thinking over the repercussions of different medical avenues, unsure of what was viable given the unprecedented situation. Unconsciously, he reached towards Jim and placed a hand on his jaw, concern showing through his touch, and… and Jim leaned into it, almost nuzzled him. Bones jumped back like he'd been burned.

Horrified, Bones watched as Jim's blazing, narrowed eyes turned on him, and an answering fire burst to life in his gut. That look was one he'd always desired, one he'd seen directed to all sorts of lovers, of all races and genders, but never at him. It was directed at him now, but only because Jim had lost his mind, had been divided between his id and his ego, and in this animalistic state would desire anyone at all.

And Bones felt a new kind of shame at that, as he thought, for just one moment, what it might be like to indulge. To allow his touches to linger on this body that wanted to be touched. But no, that was wrong; this wasn't Jim, not completely, and in his right mind Jim would never desire him. Giving in would be a gross betrayal of his duty as CMO and as a friend. Burning with shame, horror, and repressed desire, Bones gave the man a sedative and turned away, hiding his face in trembling hands.

Later, watching Jim holding his other half on the transporter, Bones felt a twinge of regret. For a moment, he'd had a chance to feel what he'd always dreamt of feeling, but it would've been a lie. And watching Jim and Spock staring at one another, exchanging hushed words, their intimacy clear even with the distance between him, Bones felt his own hopelessness sink into his gut, his doom reaffirmed.

How selfish was he, to desire two men equally, and so much? It seemed like God was punishing him for it, by denying him both.

* * *

Jim was returned to himself and everything was back to normal. Or, at least, it should have been, but for the strange distance which had arisen between the captain and his CMO. Ever since the incident, Jim had felt Bones withdrawing from him, keeping space between them, and Jim wasn't sure why.

His memories of his time being split in two were clouded, foggy; he did remember some things, including Bones' horrified face in the med bay, staring down at him with wide, terrified eyes. Whatever he'd done, it had clearly bothered the doctor badly. Guilt threatened to crush his heart, though he had no idea what he'd done, and he wasn't sure how to bring it up to the doctor.

Finally, after allowing McCoy a week to sulk and scurry away whenever Jim came close, the Captain found him in his office, head buried in a pad.

He knocked on the wall, leaning on the doorframe, and then sauntered promptly in. "Have a minute, Bones?"

The man didn't look up, merely grunted. "Not really. Got a lot goin' on right now, Jim."

Jim sat down across from him, crossing his legs at the knees and his arms across his chest. "I can see that. Number one on your list seems to be avoiding me."

Bones' hand faltered, and after a moment, he sighed and dropped his arms, glancing up. "What do you want me to say, Jim?"

Cocking an eyebrow, Jim shrugged. "You could start with explaining how I upset you." Bones fidgeted, his eyes darting away. Jim narrowed his gaze. "I did something, while I was split into two, didn't I?" He spoke with all seriousness, his tone much closer to Jim the Captain than Jim the best friend.

Frustration seemed to make the man's face explode with color and movement. "Dammit, what do you want me to say, Jim? It's in the past."

"It doesn't seem like it, since you certainly seem to still be dealing with it." Jim insisted gesturing to his friend.

"Yeah, well, I'm dealing with it, and I'll get over it on my own damn time." Bones stood, practically slamming his hands on the desk, and Jim stood as he did with just as much anger, his shoulders back and tense.

"What the hell happened, Bones?" Jim tried to sound impartial, to keep his tone calm, but he was fired up now. "Why can't you look at me? What did I do?"

Groaning, McCoy shook his head furiously. "It's not you Jim! It's me! It's what I did!"

Shock drained Jim's anger away, but before he could collect his thoughts and attempt to discover what it was Bones thought he'd done, the doctor stormed out of his office and disappeared into the hall.

* * *

Spock was preoccupied with an experiment when the Captain stormed in, which immediately caught Spock's attention for three reasons.

For one, by the look on his face and the way he was carrying himself, he was clearly upset. Cheeks colored by his human blood, fists clenched until his knuckles took on an unhealthy pallor, striding through the lab with all the purpose and speed he used during dangerous missions, it was clear something was on his mind.

For another, it was rare to see Jim Kirk in the labs, much less by his own volition. He obviously had a reason, one which could not wait until later.

Lastly, it was simply because Spock always noticed Jim, wherever he was. That last thought was quickly shoved aside, along with the unacceptable emotions of longing which rose with it.

It did not surprise Spock when Jim immediately came to his side; since it was rather unlikely he needed any of the lower ranked science officers for any purpose. But he was surprised by what his Captain asked him for.

"I need you to mind meld with me."

He betrayed his shock with one eyebrow, slightly raised, and a soft frown which displayed his dislike for being taken off guard. He could think of no reason for a mind meld to be necessary given the current situation. Not that he did not wish to; but that was a desire for a personal enjoyment he could not allow, and thus suppressed violently.

"May I ask why?"

The question didn't faze the Captain, but he did seem disgruntled, leaning against the lab table near Spock. "It's Bones." Sighing, his head fell forward. "When I was divided by the transporter, something… happened. Bones has been avoiding me since then."

"There has been a noticeable decrease in your interactions outside of duty situations."

Jim nodded, crossing his arms. "I confronted him about it, and he gave me some bull excuse about it being 'his fault'." Gnawing at his lip, Jim looked back up at Spock. The look sent a stab of feeling through the Vulcan's heart that he did not allow to exist long enough to examine. "There's clearly something I'm missing, something I can't remember. Bones won't tell me, and I can't reach it on my own." Standing up, he turned to face Spock. "Granted, the good doctor hasn't let this get in the way of his duties. He's still an exemplary officer."

Spock said nothing, merely inclined his head slightly. "Then this request is not in the interest of the ship."

Jim seemed relieved to see Spock understood, if the softening of his expression meant anything. "I'm worried, Spock. Bones has been my friend almost as long as I've been a Starfleet officer, and to think I've somehow hurt him… hurt our relationship irreparably…"

Though he already knew he would agree, Spock weighed the choices in his mind and realized how dangerous it was to agree. Being in Jim Kirk's mind… it was addictive, something he could grow used to all too easily. Each time he ventured into his captain's mind in the line of duty, he found it harder and harder to remove himself.

Yet, as hard as that choice would be, harder still was it to see Jim standing before him, entreating him, and say no.

* * *

They went to Jim's cabin, and during the walk there the Captain found himself flexing his hands nervously. Had he made a grave error, inviting Spock into his head? Sure, the Vulcan had been there before, during missions when there was no other choice, in life or death situations. He'd never melded with Spock during relaxed times, when there was no fear driving them. What would happen? What would he see, and how would it change them?

Part of him was relieved. So many secrets he kept inside, so many things he wanted to say and couldn't. Here, now, he had an excuse to allow Spock in to see his secrets. He wouldn't have to reveal them, he could be a coward and let Spock stumble upon them. And if it wasn't well received, well, they could set it aside as a mistake of the meld, as something Spock shouldn't have seen, and they could pretend not to have shared it. At least, Jim hoped so…

Still, beneath the veneer of calm, Jim was panicking. This would change everything. But there was no going back, no more hiding. It was time for Spock to know the truth, and to act on it as he deemed fit. Part of Jim wondered if it might be well received… most of him realized it wouldn't. But the idea of keeping it hidden for however much longer drove him mad. For better or worse, Spock would know, tonight.

They sat in his room, across from one another at his desk, and though he'd resigned himself to it Jim couldn't stop his heart from pounding. Surely Spock could hear it, and perhaps it bothered him; Jim had never feared a meld before. The Captain fought the urge to cringe as Spock's hands lifted, and realized that, whatever else, Spock would soon know the real reason for his nerves.

"My mind to your mind…"

* * *

_Drifting… two beings into one mind; and then, they look into that time when one being became two minds…_

_Madness, wild madness, and a thrumming pulse that will not be silenced, like drums pounding against his mind, his heart wildly dancing in his chest…_

_The medic is there, above him, wide blue eyes all emotional, as they always are, and a touch he has craved touching him touches him then. He revels in it, enjoys what his feeble other half would never have, was too scared to have; and suddenly the hand leaves, and the medic jumps away, making delicious little sounds…_

_He turns and the doctor looks manic, but he is flushed, and panting, and feels the desire too, he knows it… his other self would overthink, would assume the man to be terrified, but he knows better. The doctor wants, and fears the wanting._

…

_The other presence makes to leave, but stumbles upon the thoughts which had preoccupied him during their walk to his cabin, the thoughts he'd been ruminating on all afternoon. They flood the other mind in a torrent; desire, fondness, admiration, a craving which cannot be answered._

_But now, in the wake of the memory, similar feelings rise for the doctor: desire, fondness, admiration, and a depth of craving made deeper by years, deeper than the need for the first officer, surely. And now, in the memory, comes the answer; the desire is returned, the chance is there._

_And in the wake of that knowledge, what need is there, for the first officer to answer in reply to the wanting which is so pale in comparison?_

…

* * *

When Jim rose out of the meld, Spock had already stood up and backed away, his hands behind his back. "Excuse me, sir" He muttered, and in a feat which was completely unlike him, turned and ran away. Jim allowed it. He couldn't chase after him if he wanted to.

His heart was sore and his brain numb, with both the exertion of the meld and the knowledge which burdened him. In the very moment he'd decided to let Spock know how he felt, he found his old love for Bones was returned. In the very instant he had chosen to move on, he'd discovered there was still something there to have.

Oh, Spock… what could Spock have felt in that instant? Revulsion, that a human had such blatant emotions for him? Or, was there despair, that Jim wanted Spock, but wanted Bones as well?

Surely if Spock wanted Jim, he would have let it be known. Obviously, the Vulcan felt no such thing. Jim felt his heart sink beneath that realization. But Bones! Bones desired him, perhaps felt the depth of feeling for him that Jim felt! He had a chance with the irritable, wonderful doctor who'd always been there for him. Surely he should be leaping to his feet and running to the med bay…

And yet, he remained frozen, the image of Spock's placid face floating before his eyes, the feeling of the man in his mind thrilling some deep part of him. Would that ever happen again? Would Spock avoid it, now that he knew the truth?

Jim should be grateful. He should accept what little the universe chose to give him. He should go to Bones and tell the man the truth.

But he didn't. He slumped in his chair, his lidded eyes trained on the floor, his thoughts swirling in messy circles, always coming back to the same two people, both desired in different ways, both loved in unique manners. _Spock… Bones…_ how can I chose? How can I chose?

He couldn't.


	4. Exile of the Heart

**Episode Seven**

**Exile of the Heart**

**Post Mudd's Women and What Are Little Girls Made Of?**

Captain Kirk sat in his room at his desk chair, contemplating subjects he rarely let himself dwell over: things like love and romance; sex in ways more passionate and personal than he usually indulged. They were not topics he liked to think of often. As Captain of a starship, he could not enjoy in these things, but for the rare times he had shore leave or a guest aboard who would indulge him.

But after the events of the past few weeks, he found there was nothing else he could think of. Love… sex… devotion both emotional and physical. No matter where he turned he was reminded of these things, they were brought back to the forefront of his mind.

First, there was the aftermath of the transporter malfunction which had split him into pieces, and led to his knowledge of Bones feelings for him; and consequently, Spock found out the same of him. Spock had run, and never looked back. Kirk couldn't feel too angry at him for it, for he'd run as well. Instead of telling Bones he knew the truth, he'd retreated into himself, pitying and complaining about his luck.

The problem was simple: Captain of a starship, bound to duty and service, in love with two of his highest ranking officers and closest friends. One, a Vulcan, bound by culture and ritual to keep his emotions tightly wrapped and in check; the other, a curmudgeon-y doctor still feeling the ache of having been burned.

He knew for certain he had feelings for Bones, and Bones for him. He knew Spock knew this, and that Spock also knew Kirk loved him. All this gained from a mind meld weeks ago, after which Spock had all but raced from the room. The memory tore Kirk's heart to pieces.

In the weeks following, the rifts between himself and his closest officers only grew deeper, and the problems behind them grew worse. It would all explode at some point, and it began to do so with the arrival of Mudd and his 'women'.

It was no secret that Captain Kirk enjoyed sex; the real secret was that he hardly enjoyed it as much as everyone thought. To his crew, it seemed the Casanova had a lover at every port, and he did. That didn't mean he always wanted one, or enjoyed being with them. But what choice did he have? The only intimacy he could ever enjoy was that between strangers not stationed on his ship, and they came few and far between. He couldn't afford to be picky, so every chance he got, he flirted and flounced and brought strangers to bed. Sometimes it was worth it; sometimes he woke up with a woman on his arm whose name he couldn't remember and felt a deep, burning shame choking him.

But the alternative was a bitter loneliness he couldn't swallow, so he continued his shallow dalliances and put aside his true desires. Then came Mudd and his women.

Afterwards, he felt slightly better about the whole thing, but in the moment, Kirk had felt like his control was slipping. He'd always managed to separate his sex life from his work, and that was important to him. Desiring the victims/accomplices/whoever they turned out to be, in the middle of an investigation on his ship was beyond irresponsible. A furious anger grew in him the longer he stayed near them, the more he let his eyes danced over their forms and could not resist wanting them.

He also happened to notice Bones noticing them; the widening of his pupils, the slight open gape of his mouth, the sweat building on his brow. He wanted, and Kirk had never seen him want so. Worse than watching the women was watching Bones feel desire, and it was that sight that fueled his dreams those nights. Bitter longing and anger built even more, until it felt he'd burst with it.

Spock was completely unaffected, which only made Kirk angrier as it confirmed what he'd always felt; Spock did not desire, did not want and perhaps did not love, or if he did, it was not sexual in nature. Kirk was no stranger to asexuality, he knew of it and knew of people who identified that way, but he could not. Sex was a need for him, something he could not live without, something he didn't just desire but had to have to function. Sometimes he felt it was a weakness, but there were days when a good long night of lovemaking could rejuvenate him and he felt so strong he could never imagine not doing it.

Knowing Spock could never desire him and never would, realizing that he would never be able to see those eyes dilate, that mouth bruised and swollen from kissing… that hurt more than a knife to the gut. The whole mission with Mudd was miserable and aggravating from all the terrible conflicting thoughts it brought up in him.

But then came Roger Korby, Christine's tragedy, and a few new realizations which gave the Captain hope again. In the midst of it, Kirk wouldn't have thought his trial with the androids would bring any helpful realizations. It was only after, sprawled across his bed beaten and exhausted, avoiding Bones like the plague because he simply couldn't deal with him then, that Kirk looked back over the mission and came to a few conclusions.

The androids, Ruk and Andrea and Korby, they had been so… inhumane. They had felt emotions, perhaps, or some simile of them, but they had been cold, logical in a way Spock could never have been. Spock had expressed worry for him, had come to his rescue, had spoken to him afterwards and actually been hurt by his choice of insult (something which choked him with guilt, and he hoped Spock forgave him and knew he didn't mean it). He did feel.

So he did not feel as humans did; so he was not expressive and open. Spock was not an android. Perhaps he was asexual, perhaps not, maybe he felt love, maybe not. But he was alive, and that meant the possibility was there. So long as Spock was not actually a computer as Bones always insisted, there was a chance. In fact, Kirk knew in his hearts of hearts he could give up the idea of ever having sex with Spock, if only he could hold him, love him, be with him… it was impossibly emotional but it was true.

But of course, this brought him back to that moment, to Spock running away, and Kirk felt his heart constrict in his chest. Was there really a chance? Or was he being selfish? He knew Bones loved him and was probably aching with the knowledge. They hadn't spoken outside of duty for weeks, and Kirk had the means to change that. He could change everything: tell Bones the truth of his own feelings, explore what it meant for them, finally have someone to hold who wasn't an ephemeral stranger to disappear the next morning.

Yet he couldn't. The usual complaints rose up again: He was Captain. He couldn't allow himself to be comprised, couldn't be distracted from his duty, couldn't become involved with his officers… and yet those felt like excuses. The real answers were hidden underneath, words he dared not say. He couldn't just have Bones. He was a selfish bastard, and he wanted both of them.

In that moment, sitting at his desk, he thought just maybe that he could have both of them, if he played his cards right. If he explored this, if he figured out how to move ahead with it in a way that wouldn't scare either off, that would allow him to test the waters and see how it could go… maybe he could. Maybe they could all be together, captaincy be damned.

* * *

Leonard McCoy had never gone so long without talking to his best friend.

It hurt in a way nothing else could; an aching bruise over his heart that no medicine or alcohol could truly stave. Yes, it was for the best that they remain separate long enough for the doctor to get his foolish notions of desire out of his head, but the truth was, Bones was beginning to think no amount of time could quench that fire.

It had been weeks, weeks of distance and mental condemnation on Bones' part, and nothing had changed. His nights were still fraught with unquenched thirst and damned detailed dreams, dreams of long pale fingers playing him like a lute, of bright smiling lips descending upon his until no other thoughts could be had… and he'd wake up feeling like a teenager all over again, cursing his own damn foolishness. He was too old to feel like this.

But time didn't make it any better. He avoided the bridge, avoided the mess, hardly ever lifted his head up from his work. Most days Chapel had to boot him out just to get him to sleep. Sleep was the last thing he wanted, because just as soon as he thought he'd worked himself to exhaustion enough to forget his unrealizable desires, they'd be right there in the cover of night to whisk him off again. Then he'd have to start over forgetting, trying to ignore the pangs that struck him whenever he happened to catch sight of either man.

Time wore on and nothing changed. Two months passed and it seemed as if the world had grown duller, lost color, since he'd stopped since Kirk and Spock around all day. Without Kirk's unrepentant joking, without Spock's aggravating statements, without all the life they put into his day, he just felt… empty. And he still wanted them.

What could he do? How could he convince his foolish body to let go and move on? He thought he'd had enough with Jocelyn and that whole tragedy, but apparently he was a sucker for disasters. Him! With Spock and Kirk! Oh no, he would ruin that whole thing. They'd get their act together eventually, but not with him, no… not with him.

He was thinking over all of this one day in his office when he suddenly realized he wasn't alone, and he hadn't heard anyone come in. He jumped at the sight of Spock in front of his desk, and gave a few curses when his knees hit the underside.

"Dammit Spock don't you know how to knock?" He complained, rubbing his knees. Spock did that head tilt, eyebrow lift he always did and dammit Bones was hard. He hadn't been this easy since he was fifteen! What was wrong with him?

"I apologize doctor, but I did use the intercom three times without reply before deciding to enter." Spock replied, all even and distant and completely emotionless. Just once, just once, Bones would love to hear some passion in that baritone, some genuine feeling, a huskiness or depth to that powerful voice… He crossed that line of thought out because it was not helping his libido.

"Yeah, yeah, fine, whaddya need?" He grunted, turning his eyes back down to the paperwork in front of him.

"I… I must admit that this is not a visit pertaining to official ship business." The Vulcan almost sounded… nervous? The words and tone brought McCoy's head back up, his eyes wide.

"Yeah?" He would've stood and moved around the desk, but that would be a bad idea at the moment. Worry clouded his mind. Was Spock in trouble? Was he hurt? "Something wrong with that Vulcan system of yours?"

The words seemed to darken Spock's eyes with what Bones would've called emotion on anyone else, but on Spock was a shield of sorts, a mental distance. "I am not here for myself. I am here to speak for the Captain."

"For Jim?" Now he was really curious… and concerned. "Is he alright?"

"Everything is fine, doctor." Spock pursed his lips, seemingly about to sigh but of course would never allow himself to do that.

"Then out with it, Spock!" Leonard quickly spat out, face reddening. "Don't keep me on the edge of my seat!"

"I would do so, if you would cease your interruptions." And there it was; that slight shift in tone and power that told Bones he'd done it – he'd gotten through a crack, a tiny crack in the shield, and touched something real. Sure it was anger, maybe even dislike or loathing. But it was real, and that was something. "It has come to my attention that the Captain has been… withholding information from you." That had Bones eyebrows rising, almost like a Vulcan's. "It is not my place to say… but in the interest of the Captain's safety, I wished to inform you that it was so."

"Uh huh." Slightly confused, Bones paused before he spoke. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

"I believe speaking to the Captain would alleviate the situation."

Bones almost smiled, and stifled a snort. Was Spock here to try and mend their friendship? Was he playing the concerned friend for Jim? Bones could hardly believe it; but it was Jim, and it was obvious Spock would do just about anything for him. The doctor felt his opinion of the man rising as he realized just how much it must've cost him to come there, to tell him these things, for no reason other than it would help Jim.

"Alright then, I'll take that into consideration." He nodded, feeling a little better than before, but in the back of his mind the idea of speaking to Jim worried him. Still, he wouldn't tell Spock that.

The Vulcan nodded, said something that was a vaguely polite farewell, and left. Bones reclined in his seat, running a hand through his hair, watching as the stiff, irritated man turned and vanished from his sight.

It was childish and foolish, yes, but he couldn't help himself. He pulled Spock's pigtails every chance he got. The man was an ice cube, practically a computer, except Bones knew he wasn't somewhere deep, deep down where his humanity was locked away. He couldn't just let the man treat everyone like they were invisible, walk through the world as if it couldn't touch him. He wasn't a God, born perfect and perfectly logical! He was just as mortal, just as human, as everyone else, whether or not he wanted to admit it!

Bones thought all this to himself angrily, thought about it long and hard, and ignored the things hidden deep in his gut, in his chest. He pointedly did not remember certain things.

Like his divorce, those long months near the end, before they finally called it quits. Those months when Jocelyn, the love of his life, was a ghost in her own home, a wraith of a woman, not the person he married or remembered. Distant, cold, unfeeling, unresponsive to Leonard, to anything he did or said. Never angry, never emotional, never upset over him, just cold. Even when they finally made it official and the man couldn't help but shed a few tears, he glanced through wet eyes to the dispassionate, businesslike visage of his ex-wife and wondered how it couldn't hurt her, how she could sit there and feel nothing as his life fell apart at the seams?

He would think of Spock and curse his Vulcan heritage, and pointedly ignore every reminder of that exile from Jocelyn's heart, and the feeling of being invisible that he could no longer tolerate or ignore.


	5. The Secrets Broken Men Keep

**Episode Eight**

**The Secrets Broken Men Keep**

**During and Post Miri**

The golden trio has all but fallen apart.

The whole ship can tell. The doctor is more volatile and irritable than he has ever been; the science officer, even more rigidly logical and distant than before; and the Captain stays aloft upon his chair, eyes wandering the skies when his duties don't call, vanishing into his room at shift's end.

It's the focus of all gossip, of the concerned mutterings of other officers, of curiosity and fear. Something's got to give, and everyone is waiting for the fuse to blow, for something to explode. For what seems like ages, the three continue to toe the lines around each other, their fellow officers watching like pedestrians staring in horror at the inevitable car crash they cannot stop.

It goes on like this… until Miri.

* * *

They stand upon a planet of children, and McCoy thinks of Joanna.

He has not heard from his daughter since before her last birthday, when he'd been able to share a quick vid conference with her, cut painfully short by the sharp tenor of his wife's voice, calling his Jo to open presents. The girl had grown a foot if she'd grown at all, her eyes darkening to a warm brown like her mother's, and each smile upon her face had been the sun lighting up the world. That moment had been crumbs for a starving man.

Bones watches Spock and Jim talking to the girl, Miri, and he tries to listen, but he cannot. Miri's nervous posture, her trembling limbs, dark eyes clouded by concern. Joanna would be a little younger than Miri, but is perhaps just as tall.

It's been months since he, Jim, or Spock really spoke on any decent level – even his relationship with the Vulcan have deteriorated, and that relationship hasn't had far to fall. They aren't selfish or foolish enough to let it interfere with their work, after all, but Bones can tell the difference. Jim never comes to visit in his office or the Med Bay anymore, and Spock's retorts lack the sharp, almost playful wit they once had. Watching the two of them talk to Miri, still standing almost shoulder to shoulder but not anywhere as close as they once had, Leonard feels the dark stirrings of agony beneath his breast.

Bones regrets that it's his fault this has happened, but damned if he knows how to fix it.

* * *

They stand upon a planet of desolation, and Jim thinks of Tarsus.

It's hard not to notice the similarities: the children, forced to care for themselves in a world decimated by hardship; the fear of adult figures; the descent into _Lord of the Flies_-esque society. He recognizes it all, in his own handiwork, in the weeks and months of scraping by survival on that godforsaken rock. Years ago it would've been him shouting about onlies and grups.

No one knows about Tarsus, not even Bones, and he fights to keep the knowledge from his face. It's hard. There have been missions, before, which have triggered flashbacks, but few have been quite so similar to his past, and none had ever snuck up on him so suddenly. This mission is nothing like he thought it would be, and so he came mentally unprepared.

But Jim Kirk is nothing if he isn't light on his feet, and he rolls with the punches. After all the heartache and indecision of the last few months, he can hardly allow his baggage to clog up the pipes further. Bones is clearly still upset by his feelings being revealed, and the fact that they haven't talked about it is Jim's fault; and Spock is still distraught, in his own Vulcan way, over the personal discoveries he made in Jim's mind… again, his fault. He's not going to unload further upon his friends.

Miri is falling to pieces, and in the shadows in her eyes Kirk sees the children of Tarsus, sees his own reflection. He gravitates to her.

"She's taking a liking to you, Captain," Rand tells him, and he feels disapproving glares of his fellow crewmen on his back.

Let them think what they want; his reputation is bad enough, what's one more stain, compared to comforting a suffering girl, one survivor to another.

* * *

They stand upon a planet in quarantine, and Spock thinks of his heritage.

The doctor has already commented, many times, that the disease does not want his "green blood"; that he is lucky not to be counting down to the end with them. It would be illogical to in any way desire a disease that, without the certainty of a viable vaccine, guarantees his death, but in this situation, Spock finds his logic strained.

The Captain, the doctor, the other officers, all will succumb to the disease if an answer is not found in time, and Spock alone is allowed to escape unscathed. It is just another reminder that he is not one of them – that he is the outsider.

Working feverishly, Spock fights for an answer. He knows logically that, between his own expertise and the experience of Doctor McCoy, an answer will be found. It is only a question of whether it will be found in time.

It is only in being consumed by the science and the discovery that Spock manages to truly repress his fear, a burning sensation that he struggles with every time he considers that failure means the end of Leonard McCoy and James T. Kirk. That is not an option he could ever consider.

They will live, of that he is certain. Once they are safe, they will eventually overcome their illogical human foibles, realize they both share an attraction, and become mates. Jim may have some of that attraction for Spock as well, but his association with the doctor has existed for much longer, and thus so has his feelings. Both being human, they match much more suitably in the social and cultural arenas, and have many years of friendship upon which to base their future developments.

It is only logical that such a thing occur – and Spock, as a Vulcan, feels nothing when he considers it, for whatever feelings might try rising to the surface are quickly shoved deep down beneath that scientific mind, which allows him to shove aside personal pain and focus upon saving the lives of the people who matter most to him.

* * *

Somehow, they survive.

They spend days locked in the same room together, forced into isolation together after months avoiding each other. The issues which pushed them apart are not resolved – the mission, saving their own skins, helping the children comes before anything else.

On that planet, they fell into dark places: almost fell to pieces themselves, and it quickly became clear to all that their relationship, as it was, could progress that way no further.

It became clearest of all, of course, to the most logical one on the ship.

* * *

Jim enters the conference room with his head hung low, stress and tension radiating up his spine, wishing he'd thought to take a nap before answering the call to duty. Then again, perhaps succumbing to sleep only for so long and being forced to rise again so quickly would only hurt him in the long run.

The mission had been hard – really hard – but they all survived, miraculously, and it's time to move on to the next one. But first, something has to be done about the… well… the thing between himself, Bones, and Spock.

Jim's not an idiot. He'd like to say they acted professionally down there, but he knows they're only human (or Vulcan), and they can't lock their feelings away and focus completely on the mission, particularly when said mission includes a disease that compromises the mind.

That last mission had not been pretty. They'd been at each other's throats half the time, and throwing themselves headlong into stupidly dangerous situations the other half. Spock was, per usual, the only one with his head on right, and even he had fallen to throwing barbs much sharper than his usual verbal jousts with Bones.

The isolation, the death hanging over their heads, the issue with the children had gotten to them all, but especially to the three commanding officers, what with the tension that had already existed between them. So when Jim gets a cryptic message from Spock about meeting to discuss mission parameters, he doesn't question it. He knows what it's about, and considers it long overdue.

That's not to say he's not terrified. Inside he's practically shaking. But he's survived worse than this… right?

* * *

McCoy gets the summons just as he's cracking open a bottle of brandy, and he's half tempted to ignore it. But after a moment's hesitation, he curses and sets the drink aside. If he doesn't show, they'll just come looking for him, and if he's started drinking by then that won't end pretty.

He knows he screwed up. In his defense, his mind was addled when he stabbed himself with a potentially lethal experimental cure, and had been stuck in a very stressful environment for the duration of the mission (longer than that, if he was truthful). But he's pretty sure they won't let him get away with that.

Besides, he's got his own bones to pick about Jim running around chasing down violent gangs of teenagers on his own, and getting pummeled doing it. Granted it could've been much worse, but he still seethes when he thinks that Jim ran off not once, but twice on his own after the onlies.

The whole thing is screwed up, has been for a while, and Leonard is half tempted to start drinking now anyway, just to make the meeting doable. But he leaves without taking a sip, forces himself to the conference room, and enters to find Jim and Spock already standing in the room, looking as tense and anxious as he feels.

* * *

Spock observes the doctor entering the room, and prepares himself to speak. For 3.4 seconds, he hesitates, realizing that this is the moment he has honestly dreaded for some time, in a very illogical and shameful fashion, that he will barely admit to himself. No amount of meditation or exercise has expunged the emotion, and now he stands before these two with that weakness pounding in his breast, unsure of how to begin.

"Well… here we are." Jim begins with a sigh, a halfhearted smile upon his face, as he looks from one man to the other. "I suppose this an intervention?"

Spock realizes, after a moment, that the Captain is referring to a human practice of intervening in an associate's, friends, or family member's life if it is believed said person is acting in a self-destructive manner. He finds the comparison apt.

"It has come to my attention that for the past four point seven months, our interactions have decreased in occurrence and positive outcome, leading to a decrease in our personal and overall performance in our duties."

"You mean we're disagreeing and it's getting in the way of our jobs." The doctor snorts. "Trust a Vulcan to take half an hour to say what a few words will do."

"Bones."

Spock realizes that McCoy's comment is not the same as his usual remarks; it lacks the strength, the emotionalism it usually has. It is, as humans would say, "deadpan", and out of character for him.

"That is what I said, Doctor." Spock moves his arms behind his back. "Since the occurrence of the Captain's split personality, relations between yourself and Jim have weakened dramatically. It is my hypothesis that said weakness has led to a lowering of ship performance, particularly on our last mission."

"I came to the same conclusion." Jim, hands gripping the chair in front of him, nods and lowers his gaze. Bones harrumphs across from him, crossing his arms in a violent fashion.

"So, we're arguing. It happens to humans sometimes." McCoy says the comment to Spock, but Jim answers.

"That's just it, Bones." He says. "I don't even know what we're arguing about." He stands up, moving around the edge of the table to come closer to the doctor. "It's like a wall sprang up between us overnight – between all three of us."

"I will accept partial responsibility for the disintegration of our working relationship."

"I'll be. Never thought I'd live to see Spock talk about relationships."

"And what about you, Bones?" Jim asks, crossing his own arms. "You want to talk about relationships? As in, why yours and mine suddenly soured?"

Spock knows that Jim knows why the doctor began pulling away – what he cannot deduce, is why Jim is not letting it be known. It could be Spock's presence, but he is already involved in their secret. There seems to be no logical reason why Jim would not share his knowledge of Leonard's feelings for him, and Jim's in return. The sharing of this observation would surely go a long way to repairing their relationship.

The doctor sighs, a hand passing over his face. "Look, Jim, I…" He sighs again. "It's just been a tough time, recently. I've been dealing with some things… dealing badly… and I needed some time alone. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about it."

Jim nods, accepting. "I'm sorry I didn't try to reach out to you about it more."

"Not your fault." McCoy replies. "I wasn't making myself easy to reach."

"For my part…" Spock takes a step forward. "I do not wish our… relationship… to continue in the fashion it has these few months. I find my progress in both my Starfleet assignments and personal projects has stagnated since we three have ceased to function as a team."

"So, what you're saying is, you work better when you have us around?" Jim smiles and Spock ignores his heart as it attempts to increase in beating. His control flounders only for a moment.

"Affirmative, Captain."

"Well…" The doctor's tone is softening, losing the angry, hurt growl it has had in the last few weeks. "We can't have that, can we?" The humans share a glance, and a laugh, and Spock stands carefully still, as if afraid any movement might jar this weak peace they've obtained.

Spock knows that the roots of their problems have not been addressed in any fashion. They still carry their secrets: the doctor believes Jim is none the wiser about his romantic attachment; Jim is concealing the fact that he knows of said attachment, and reciprocates it; and Spock himself is concealing from all, even himself, his fervent desire for both humans, which he knows will never be realized.

"Promise me you'll never use yourself as a guinea pig again." Kirk says to McCoy as they head for the door, Spock trailing behind.

"Only if you promise not to jump headfirst without looking again."

"The likelihood of such a promise being kept is less than –"

"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Jim interrupts. "But I don't think we need statistics on that."

"For once, I think I'd like to hear Mr. Spock rattle out some numbers," Leonard retorts. Both humans are glancing back at him, some of that inscrutable human fondness in their eyes, as they wait for him to speak.

Spock notes the way Leonard leans into the Captain, how Jim instinctively raises his arm to run along the doctor's lower back, how their heads turns as one as if they complement each other. He knows their union is only a matter of time, that they are well suited to one another and soon will come to realize it.

He is Vulcan. Romantic dalliances are of no use to him. This strange human… friendship… these two feel for him, is more than adequate. Or, he will secretly admit to no one safe himself; it will simply have to do.


	6. Of Lies and Lying

**Episode Twelve**

**Of Lies and Logic**

**Post Dagger of the Mind and The Menagerie Parts 1 and 2**

It was in the midst of a game of chess that Spock asked the captain the query which had been languishing in his mind since the end of their last very trying mission. Spock had done quite a few things he could not quite bring himself to regret, because he did them for Christopher Pike – but they were still lamentable actions, which brought difficulties upon his current captain, James T. Kirk.

Times had been hard for them, even after the "golden trio" reconciled after the events on the Earth-like, post-apocalyptic planet. The incident upon the prison planet had sorely tested the Captain's mind and made him suffer great pain; and the events leading up to Captain Pike's departure at Talos IV had been even more difficult.

Spock had only just reconciled with the Captain, and had so quickly been forced to betray him to assist another. He had not been sure his actions would be forgiven; and yet, only a few days later, their cordial relationship had returned, and they were playing chess in the wreck room.

Which lead to Spock's question.

"Captain," He began. This prompted the man in question to lift his gaze, golden eyes shimmering with friendly, well-meant agitation, and perhaps a little mirth. "Jim." Spock began again, and the Captain inclined his head.

"Yes, Spock?"

"I would like to inquire as to the purpose… or perhaps the nature… of lying."

"Lying, Spock?" The Vulcan watched with sharp eyes as Jim appeared to make a quick, haphazard move on the board. "What do you mean?"

Interlacing his fingers, Spock created a steeple upon which he rested his chin. "More specifically, the act of lying to oneself." That made Jim's eyes rise. "Vulcans are incapable of lying – it is not a practice that exists among my people."

"I'm not so sure about that." The Captain smirked. "I'm pretty sure you've lied to me a lot this past week."

"That… is not incorrect." Spock inclined his head, a slight green tinged coming to his cheeks. "The actions I took to ensure Captain Pike's safety and health were regrettable, and I apologize for causing difficulties for you by taking them."

"Forget it Spock." Kirk waved him off. "So, you want to know why someone would lie to themselves?"

"Why," Spock nodded slightly. "And how they would go about doing so." At the end of his words, Spock moved his chin, making his move upon the board, calculating further moves as he replaced his hand.

"You don't ask simple questions, Spock." The captain chuckled, a finger stroking his chin. He was reclined at a side angle in the chair, leaning on one elbow, eying the board through tired, slanted eyes.

"There would be no logical reason for asking simple questions, Captain – for simple questions would not be difficult enough to merit asking."

Kirk waved his words away. "Of course, my literal friend." His hand lingered over a piece, fingers dancing indecisively, before he lifted it away to a pawn and moved that instead. "There are quite a few reasons for lying. There's… protection, for instance. Sometimes it's safer to tell a lie."

"How so?"

"Perhaps you are in a scenario where the truth will get you killed. Telling a lie in that case, is the only viable option."

"Incorrect, Captain." Spock quickly replied. He lingered over the board only a moment before moving his bishop and taking another of Kirk's pawns. "It cannot be said that telling a lie in such a scenario is the only option – and in fact may not be the safest one." The Captain inclined his head, a small smile on his face, indicating his interest. "If the person in this hypothetical situation tells a lie to their captor, and is caught lying, their actions may subsequently worsen their position or their treatment."

"On the other hand," Jim interjected, picking up his queen and gesturing with it in hand. "If telling the truth could lead to worse or larger consequences than personal harm, then the person in question cannot consider their safety first." Placing the queen in its new position, Kirk let his arm fall. "Thus, they can only lie."

Spock considered the position. "Then lying is, in some cases, a tool to mislead an opponent."

"Yes."

"But why would one deliberately mislead oneself?"

Jim seemed to consider it for a moment, even as he considered the chess board. He moved a pawn before speaking again. "In this case, protection could be the reason, too."

"I do not understand."

"Not every person can handle every truth." Jim shrugged. "Sometimes, humans lie to themselves to protect them from truths they don't like."

"It is illogical to 'dislike' the truth." Spock quirked an eyebrow. "Disliking it will not change the fact that it is true."

"Yes, but not every human is capable of facing up to that fact." Kirk acknowledged. "Let's take another hypothetical scenario." As he considered his speech, Jim examined the board again, moving forward in his chair. "Consider a family consisting of a mother, father, and a child. They're happy, or at least content, though they have had their troubles. The mother hasn't always been faithful,"

"Faithful, Captain?"

"Um – she's been with other men without her husband knowing, and he found out." Both Spock's eyebrows rose at this, but he allowed Kirk to continue. "But they've managed to reconcile, work it out, and move on with their lives. Only, she finds out that their child is not the father's, but has the DNA of the man she slept with."

"What does she do? Upset the balance of the relationship she is in, which has only newly been repaired? She has to consider that this knowledge may be the last straw, that her husband will leave, their marriage fall apart. Her child would suffer for that. So, does she tell?"

"She must." Spock insisted. "It is illogical to keep secrets from a life partner. No strong bond can exist between two people who cannot trust each other."

"But this is a terrible thing, Spock." Kirk speaks with sobriety and a somber tone, cajoling in its pitch. "She's just put her life back on track. She and her husband are happy, they both love their child. Telling the truth may ruin three lives."

"It may, but she cannot know for certain." Moving another piece, Spock turned back to Kirk. "I believe it was your human philosopher, Kant, who stated that one must always do what is appropriately moral in the situation regardless of what the situation is, for one cannot know what the consequences will be."

Kirk nodded. "A man comes to your door and asks you to hide him from a murderer, you hide him. The murderer comes to your door and asks where the man is hidden, you tell him."

"For it is moral to do so."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"According to Kant's logic, it is. It is morally correct to protect the man from the murderer, just as it is morally correct to tell the murderer the truth."

"Even if the truth gets a man killed?"

"But you cannot know for certain that it will." Spock moved his hands once again, fingers pressed together as if in prayer beneath his chin. "All you can control is your own actions, and it is your actions which must be moral. The actions of the murderer are not your concern. If you tell the truth, and the murderer kills a man, you have made the moral choice whereas the murderer has committed a crime. But if you lie, you have been immoral as well." Looking up, Spock regarded his Captain. "The unfaithful mother in your scenario would be acting irresponsibility by withholding the truth. She cannot know what revealing the truth will do – but it is moral to reveal it. Though I am not certain how that relates to lying to oneself."

"We've gotten a little off topic, but I did have a point." Kirk adjusted his position, wincing a little as his legs began to spark and tingle from lack of circulation where his thighs pressed against the chair. "What if this knowledge is painful to the wife herself? If the idea that her child is not her husband's child haunts her, past the point of being able to live comfortably? Then perhaps she'll start lying to herself. The tests were wrong, she'll say. The doctors were wrong. This is my husband's child."

"It is illogical to live a life based upon a lie."

"But if the life built on a lie is better than the life which is based upon truth, then would you not indulge in lying?" Kirk frowned and shook his head. "Well, you wouldn't, but there's many a human who would."

"Would you, Captain?"

Eyes downcast, Kirk appeared to be thoughtful. "I'd like to think not."

"May I ask why?" That seemed to surprise the Captain and made him glance up. "You seemed not to disapprove of the act of lying to oneself, and yet profess you'd like to believe you would not do so."

"Well," The man shrugged slowly. "Humans tend to believe that a person is stronger if they don't lie to themselves. That we're somehow better people."

"Do you believe that?"

"I buy into the hype most days." One of his debonair, shining smiles shone through then. "Sometimes I'm not so sure. Sometimes I think lying to yourself is the last act of a desperate person who has been strong for too long." A single finger came to rest upon the head of Kirk's knight, making the piece rock slightly. "Things like, 'it's going to get better soon', or 'things will turn around'. Lies like that, everyone tells themselves, just to get through the day. Sometimes they turn out to be true… but not always."

"Then lying to oneself is an act of preservation." Spock replied. "Humans need such assurances to continue functioning adequately in highly stressful environments."

"And Vulcans don't?"

"I have already explained,"

"Right, right, Vulcans don't lie, much less to themselves."

"Do you Jim?" Head turning back to Spock, Kirk lifted an eyebrow. "Do you lie to yourself?"

In an instant, Kirk stood, pacing away from the board towards the far wall. "What prompted this?" He asked suddenly. "You always have a reason for everything you do, even when it's just topics of conversations."

Spock inclined his head, admitting to it. "I do have a reason."

"And it is?"

"I am not sure I should say."

"Now who's lying?" The human scoffed.

"I am not telling a lie."

"Lying by omission." Kirk insisted. "By refusing to tell the truth at all." His Vulcan friend looked affronted at that, which had been Kirk's goal after all. After a moment's hesitation Spock spoke.

"It has come to my attention that you may be currently engaged in believing in a self-delusion."

"You mean, I'm lying to myself about something?" A chuckle escaped him, Kirk's look brightening. "About what?"

For a moment, Spock adjusted his position in the chair, arms coming to lie back on the table. In a Vulcan, that was almost nervous fidgeting… almost. "Approximately four months, seventeen days, twelve hours and thirty seven minutes ago, you and I engaged in a mind meld."

Kirk nodded. "I remember." Not so exactly, but even so.

"From that meld, you obtained certain knowledge which you appear to have kept secret from certain members of this ship's crew." Spock continued, his tone growing vaguely hesitant. "The thought had occurred that you were somehow engaged in fabrication, in an attempt to rationalize keeping a secret which could only benefit you in the revealing."

"Explain."

A pensive look upon his face, Spock elucidated. "You could be operating under the belief that it is better for the ship for the Captain to abstain from serious emotional relationships. Or, perhaps you have convinced yourself that what you learned from the meld is not strong enough evidence to act upon. There are many lies you could have conceived to rationalize keeping your romantic attachment for Dr. McCoy from him."

"I have a better question." In an instant, Kirk moved, coming to sit again before the board. "You say Vulcans can't lie. Your people may not make up facts, but they can distort them – or ignore them." Eyes narrowing, Jim drove on like a man possessed. "For instance, the fact that in that very same mind meld which you and I shared, you obtained knowledge which you have yet to act upon, much less acknowledge; knowledge which you are even in this moment pretending is not real."

"I have never 'pretended' that any proven fact did not exist."

"Then what about the fact that I love you?" Spock's hand fumbled with his queen, and the piece fell, rolling off the table. "I know you took that from the meld, I felt you take it. Yet in four months, seventeen days, and however many minutes and hours, not once have you spoken of it. Not once have you approached me to discuss it in any way."

"What is there to be discussed?" Spock asked dryly. "Whereas your secret regarding the doctor merits discussion. He obviously shares your sentiment. Why have you not approached him?"

"Why have you not approached me?"

"That is not -"

"Why have you not approached me Spock?" Kirk almost shouted vehemently, fist hitting the table. "Here's another theory for you. I think you're scared. You've never had to face love from anyone; love, arguably one of the strongest and most illogical emotions ever felt, an emotion you've shied away from like all others. You realize that it will eventually become relevant, it's inevitable, we're friends and we're co-workers, this isn't something that will disappear. Something will eventually give and we'll have to address it."

"There's only one way to keep from having to deal in any way with my love for you – to make it irrelevant." Red faced, wide eyed, and passionate, Kirk kept going. "To make it so that my love for you ceases to exist, or is superseded by love for someone else. You must have thought that my feelings for Bones would be the answer, so you kept quiet, stayed out of the way, and waited for us to become involved. Only we never did." Leaning forward, Kirk narrowed his eyes, voice dropping. "So now you're here, trying to convince me to go to him, so you'll never have to confront the feelings which you felt inside my mind."

Their eyes met over the table: wide, passionate gold against slim, glimmering black.

Spock reached down, picked up his queen, and placed her upon a new spot without ever lowering his eyes. "Check, Captain."

The Captain stood; with a lazy gesture he reached out and tipped his king over, signaling his surrender. Spock's eyes widened at the sight, and widened further when Jim walked by his chair, and leaned down towards him.

"Checkmate, Spock."

Then he was gone, leaving the Vulcan alone in the rec room.


	7. Murderer, Myself

**Episode Thirteen**

_**Murderer, Myself**_

**Post The Conscience of the King**

For all intents and purposes, life for the command officers of the Enterprise returned to normal, whatever normal was. The silence between the three had ended, their self-imposed exiles done, but to say that all was the same as it was would be far from correct. It seemed the trio was at some kind of impasse, in which they were simply unable to go any farther. On the outside it looked as if all was well. But look closely and there were cracks in the surface, flaws in the façade.

It was quite clear something had changed. Moments where Kirk and Spock had once worked seamlessly together still occurred, but there was something sharp about it – a question unanswered, a subject unspoken. A kind of electricity seemed to flicker in the air between them but neither of them seemed to want to or be willing to bring it up.

The same was true of the doctor, whose typical vitriolic discourse took on a sharper edge. McCoy had always had a vested interest in getting reactions out of Spock – in the following weeks, it seemed he made provoking the Vulcan an Olympic sport. Spock's responses in turn, were either even more dismissive than before or, at times, even harsher in reaction.

Yet, the three began to interact as per usual, to take meals together, tease one another, and accomplish death-defying missions as they once had. Seeing Kirk in the med bay was again a usual sight, and he began having weekly chess games against Spock as before. While the triad had in some way shifted and altered, it was a triad once again.

There might be problems beneath the surface, unspoken truths, but the trio seemed content to let sleeping dogs lie.

* * *

"Dr. McCoy?" Nurse Chapel's voice shook the man from his distant thoughts, and the fact that she took him by surprise made him grumpy.

"What?"

She cocked an eyebrow and gave him a look that was almost Vulcan in its disapproval. "Your shift ended an hour ago, why are you still here?"

McCoy gave a halfhearted grumble in reply and waved her off. There was always work to be done and he wouldn't be able to rest in his quarters anyway, not really. It'd been a long time since Bones had been capable of real rest, especially these past few months.

Self-revelations were a pain in the ass. Not a day went by that Bones didn't regret realizing the truth about his feelings for Spock and for Jim, because it had made his life a hell of a lot more complicated. Every moment the knowledge thrummed beneath his skin, and the fact that he had to sit on it, couldn't do anything about it was just the salt in the wound. He ached in ways no medication could cure.

It just had to be dealt with, like every other piece of baggage that came with the job. All he had to do was keep it to himself, and stay out of the way when Spock and Jim finally got their acts together.

While he happened to be brooding on the thought, half of the equation of his misery stalked through the med bay doors. Bones quirked an eyebrow at Spock as he approached the desk.

"Something I can help you with?" The science officer seemed distracted, in his own way, eyes averted and posture stiffer than normal. "Something the matter with you?" When Spock still didn't reply, the doctor felt a pang of worry burst inside. "Spock? What's wrong?" Finally Spock raised his gaze.

"Doctor, I wish for you to view this." His hand rose to reveal a recorded tape. Without any further prompting, Spock stepped around the desk to insert the tape into the computer and Bones let him. In a moment, the screen displayed security footage from the theater room – and Bones quickly realized just what night the footage came from.

There, center stage, stood Kodos, his daughter across from him, phaser clenched in her trembling hands. Behind him, somewhat to the left was Jim, arms extended, ready to take action whenever the moment was right. Bones hadn't been there when Jim had confronted Kodos, but he'd been told what happened.

"What's the point of this, Spock?" He asked, but the Vulcan merely nodded to the screen, insisting the doctor watch. Rolling his eyes, McCoy did just that.

The scene played out as he knew it would: the conversations couldn't be heard, but McCoy didn't need to hear them. Lenore raised her weapon, aimed at Kirk, and Kodos stepped in the way, dying in Kirk's place. Spock paused the tape, and then looked to McCoy expectantly.

"What?" Eyebrows raised, the doctor crossed his arms.

"Did you recognize the discrepancy?"

"He's dead, Spock. What are you trying to get me to see?"

The Vulcan merely restarted the video, directing McCoy to watch again, which he did with an eye roll and a sigh. Twice more McCoy saw nothing, and twice more the science officer restarted the tape.

It was on that fourth time that Leonard's eyes widened, and he leapt forward, hands coming to the desk. "Stop! Stop the tape!"

Immediately the Vulcan did so, and the computer froze upon the image of Kodos leaping in front of Jim. Bones' eyes darted across it, examining closing, gaze fixating upon the feet of both men.

"Go back a few seconds and play it."

He watched: Lenore fired the gun. Kodos stepped left, in the path of the gun, in the three or four seconds between the firing and the final blow. And Jim –

Jim stepped _right_.

"Good god almighty!"

Spock gave a slight, satisfied nod, his dark eyes narrowing at the screen. "You have come to the same conclusion I have." He declared, and for once McCoy didn't react with fire and passion.

"Play it again!" He whispered, and he didn't notice that Spock didn't protest the illogic of watching again after the truth had been realized.

And it was true – there were a few seconds, just a few, a short time frame in which Jim could've done something. Pushed Kodos out of the way, leapt from the blast, ducked down out of the line of fire, something. There were more than a few ways he could have tried to save Anton Karidian without inviting harm on himself.

But the video showed Jim, in those valuable seconds, watching Kodos step into the line of fire – and willingly stepping behind him, allowing him to take the shot.

"Oh god…" Bones whispered, hands clenching. "_God_… Jim..."

"As a Starfleet officer, it is the Captain's duty to insure the safety of all aboard his vessel, and that includes war criminals such as Kodos. This tape clearly displays the Captain acting in such a way that a man lost his life."

"You goddamn, heartless computerized bastard!" Bones spun on the Vulcan, heat rising to his face and entering his voice. "That's Jim you're talking about!"

"Doctor, the Captain has a duty to Starfleet regulations -"

"_Kodos_, Spock!" Bitter rage pounding in his head, McCoy let his vitriol and his fear color his tone, while the mantra of _Jim, God, Jim,_ continued in his head. "This is the man who condemned 4,000 people to death, and Jim was forced to watch when he was _thirteen_ years old! Thirteen! I can't imagine what that boy had to go through – and neither can you, and neither of us should stand here judging him for a split second decision to let the monster that ruined his childhood die!"

"That split second decision could cost the Captain his career."

That realization sunk into the doctor's chest like a lead weight, stealing his voice. "You… you wouldn't, not even you…"

A short shake of his head gave Spock's reply, and shocked McCoy from his sudden stupor. "No, I would not. However I believe the Captain might."

Suddenly everything made sense: why Spock was here, what he was trying to accomplish. "Jim." The doctor breathed dryly. "The guilt, he – he'll turn himself in."

"It would be the height of illogic to lose a capable officer due to a rash decision made in a moment of emotional compromise." Spock continued, removing the tape from the computer. McCoy nodded at it.

"What about the tape?"

A sudden screech of metal ripped through the air, and when Spock opened his hand the remnants fell into the waste receptacle McCoy kept beside his desk. Spock raised an eyebrow.

"What tape, doctor?"

Then he was gone, leaving Leonard staring dumbly at his back for a moment, before he collected himself and ran from the room, straight for Jim's quarters.

* * *

It didn't take a genius to know who was pounding at Jim's door at this time of night. There was only one of two people it could really be – and given the potency and impatience of whoever it was, Jim was relatively sure he knew who.

He didn't get up to let Bones in; the doctor, after collecting himself, used his medical override to allow himself in. Jim didn't move. He remained as he was, slumped in his desk chair with a tumbler of synthetic alcohol in one hand. On his computer he had typed his confession, which had yet to be sent to anyone.

"So he figured it out." Narrowed eyes danced to McCoy, who didn't bother trying to disclaim it.

"Ain't nobody else who'd ever pay that much attention on this ship." The doctor admitted while crossing his arms. "Much as I hate to admit it, we're damn lucky he did, or else there'd be no one to stop you from pulling this foolish bullshit."

"Is it foolish, Bones?" He mumbled, lidded eyes drifting to the computer. "I let a man die when I could have done something. My ship, my duty. I let him die."

"Jim." Bones came to sit in a chair on the other side of his friend's desk. "I can't imagine what you went through on Tarsus, and I wouldn't try. But I can bet whatever it was isn't something you can just let go of – and I'm absolutely sure it compromised you on that stage."

"I knew what would happen, Bones. I saw the trajectory, and I made the choice to let him die."

"Jim, by all rights, you should've never been put in the position of making that choice, anyhow. If I'd known sooner that you'd been on Tarsus, I'd of removed you from the situation and let Spock handle it."

Tired eyes lifting, Jim looked over his friend's face, tried to draw strength from it, to escape the shadows lingering in his mind, weighing down his chest. Emptiness echoed inside him, drawing out the ghosts of the past. The scent of acrid rust and bodies singed by phaser fire; feeling of running past exhaustion, burning up with terror, unsure of whether he was running from the enemy or towards them; his voice, Kodos' voice, deciding their fate.

"Now, I know I spend most of my time bothering that Vulcan about being human, but right now I think you're the one who could use the reminder – you're allowed to make mistakes Jim. You're allowed to falter, even fail. Given all the stress you were under, the traumas being unearthed, I'm amazed you held together long enough to face the man."

"Starfleet won't see a difference."

"I don't know about that." The doctor looked skeptical. "Still, I don't think we should try it. Destroy that email, Jim."

"You know the regulations, Bones."

"You'll break every regulation and then some to save the life of the lowest ensign on this ship, but you won't do it to make your own life a little easier?" Snorting, Bones shook his head. "You're incredible. Now delete that letter before I take drastic measures."

Jim couldn't help a slight smile. With a weak hand that trembled slightly, he reached out and hit delete. For a moment he wondered if he should feel relief, remorse, something. Nothing rose to life in his chest. "There you go, Bones." He muttered quietly. "All gone, no trace left. Kodos' murderer goes unpunished."

"Kodos' 'murderer' deserves a medal." Bones insisted as he stood. "And I think most of Starfleet, whether they would do so officially or not, would agree. Now I want you to come into my office tomorrow to talk about this." He waited for a reply, eyebrows lifting, and after a moment's hesitation Jim nodded. Bones left soon after.

Jim clenched the tumbler tight in hand, blinking heavy eyelids and trying to chase away the images which leapt to life behind them: the horrific memories, that horrid voice, continuously reminding him, reminding them, that they had not been chosen, that they were somehow not worthy allowing to live, that they would die…

Jim stared into his glass brow furrowed, and tried to make himself honestly regret allowing Kodos the Executioner to die. He couldn't.


	8. Facts and Figures

**Episode Fifteen**

_**Facts and Figures**_

**Set During "Shore Leave"**

Wasn't it just their luck that, when they finally got the chance to kick back on shore leave, they found the one planet that defied explanation? Bones looked around at the supposed picturesque expanse and cursed under his breath, arms crossed.

It had taken everything he had to finally convince both the captain and Starfleet Command to let the flagship take shore leave. The captain had been all for it, but Starfleet wasn't eager to let the Enterprise go so soon after the mess with the Romulans. But McCoy wouldn't back down – the crew was going to crash and burn if they couldn't let loose soon. Eventually they saw reason.

But now it looked like all the doctor's hard work was going straight down the drain, since the planet wasn't as peaceful and simple as he'd supposed.

"Just my luck," He grumbled again.

"Sir?"

Yeoman Barrows was at his side, which startled him; in his reverie he'd almost forgotten she was there. And how could he do that? Her perfume colored the air, and she stood so close to him he couldn't help but be hyper aware of her, of every accidental brush of their skin, every promising smile.

And they were promising: this young woman, for whatever reason, was attracted to him, the grumpy old doctor at least ten years her senior. He couldn't deny that something about the prospect was alluring. He didn't know Barrows well; she was a fine officer, a sweet woman, distractingly gorgeous. If he was still twenty two, he'd already be throwing lines her way.

He did throw a few, for old time's sake, making very promising remarks, and found the old routine was still there though it's been far too long since he's done it. There was heat rushing through him at every bat of her eyelids, and the fact that she was reciprocating, that she wanted him – it was invigorating. It had been more than a decade since anyone wanted him.

But that thought put a halt on the whole process. What was he doing? She was a junior officer, a young woman with a promising future who probably just wanted a roll in the hay, which he would've been fine with doing years ago but – but now? He…

"Doctor?"

McCoy put on a smile and nodded at Barrows. "Sorry, Yeoman. Heads in the clouds today." They've got a mission, weird as it is, and he could contemplate beautiful, unobtainable women later.

He considered leaving her, looking for the rabbit by himself, but couldn't quite bring himself to do it. She was intoxicating. She wanted him. Had anyone ever really wanted him?

Jocelyn did, once. He didn't like thinking about that.

* * *

"Ruth?"

This couldn't be. Jim stared in shock and awe at the woman crossing the ground towards him, hands trembling as he did so. A ghost out of his past was sauntering his way and all he could do was stare.

It had been so long, but she looked just the same: eyes twinkling like the stars in the Milky Way, smile shining brighter than any sun. Memories of long nights and early mornings spent at her side, in her bed, spun through his mind and suddenly his pants were a little tight, and his knees weak.

"Yes, Jim?"

Oh, her voice, as sweet and alluring as it had been all those years ago, when he'd still been young enough to believe love could mean everything, be the be-all, end-all of existence. How he'd loved her. Hand shaking, he lifted his fingers to trace her cheek, and felt the reality beneath his knuckles.

"Captain, respond."

Distracted, Jim touched the communicator, never letting his eyes leave Ruth. A part of his mind insisted that his behavior was unbecoming, that they could be in danger, that this couldn't be real – and a larger part didn't care. He was so tired, so lonely, exhausted by the duty and by the weight it put upon his shoulders, the distance which stood between him and the other officers, who were allowed to be mortal men. He couldn't be. He had to be more than mortal, better than perfect. No Captain could risk being anything less.

He ended the conversation as quickly as he could, lost in Ruth's eyes as he shut the communicator off. It had been so long since he'd been with anyone who genuinely cared about him, even if it was just to sit next to one another, comfortable and at peace. Oh, he missed Ruth. Missed being able to let go, to set himself free, to not be perfect or superhuman. To make love, and be loved, and let the role of Captain slip away…

… but this had to wait. He had a mission – he still had to be Captain. Ruth, real or not, could not be his concern now. So, steeling his strength, he forced himself away from the one person to look at him with affection and understanding in so many long years, and made his way towards his men.

* * *

"This isn't real."

He whispered it quietly under his breath as the knight came barreling across the ground. McCoy stood his ground. This wasn't real, and he was going to prove it, to put an end to all this ridiculous imaginative strangeness, so he could finally relax.

It couldn't be real – Don Juan, Alice in Wonderland, flocks of birds – they didn't exist here. They weren't real. Just because the so finely made dress that Barrows was now wearing was real didn't mean these people weren't illusions.

But there was a dissonance of thought there, he knew; how could one be real and the other not? The gun had been real, and Don Juan had been real enough to scare poor Barrows. This was real.

So why was he standing here, awaiting the sharp end of a spear that was surely about to pierce his skin? Bones told himself to move – that he didn't need to die today, dammit, that he still had a job to do. Jim needed him.

But he stood, still as stone, watching with wide eyes as Death ran across to him. He couldn't make himself move. Tried to tell himself he had a life worth living, but he couldn't make himself believe the lie.

It was a rather foolish way to die, to be sure. Barrows was still waiting for him, too. But he knew deep down that, for all his playing, he'd never sleep with her. He'd never trust anyone enough to sleep with them again, never trust himself to make it work, never believe that he could keep any sort of relationship alive without poisoning it with his failures, never –

* * *

"_**BONES!"**_

Jim barreled across the field towards his fallen friend, panic and terror shaking his heart. It couldn't be real – it was another illusion, a trick, it was false –

But the body didn't disappear under his touch, and the skin was cold and clammy, and it was Bones, Bones was dead, _Bones_ –

No. No, no, no. He was supposed to have time, they were supposed to have time! They weren't going to die on shore leave, on a planet of strange illusions! If they were to die at all it was going to be for something good, something big, defending the Federation and saving lives, not – not brought down by some anachronistic vision!

This wasn't – it couldn't – fists clenching, Jim killed his heart, killed it dead, and stood.

He had a mission. He could mourn lives lost needlessly, and chances never taken, after everyone else was safe.

* * *

Spock did not often disagree with the aspects of his life which his Vulcan heritage gave him, but now – now he could do without the memory so perfect that Leonard McCoy's dead body remained seared into his mind.

He did not dwell on it – did not think of the shattering pain which shook him and tore through his control, allowing a gasp to rip from his throat when he should have been silent, and calm. Officers often died on missions, such was the risk Starfleet officers took. The doctor – Leonard knew that, and Spock had a mission to complete, he had no time for emotionalism.

If Jim could hold himself together, so could Spock. They would complete the mission, take Leonard's body back to the ship, and grieve properly later.

* * *

Jim threw himself at Finnegan again, the anger and agony rushing through his veins, letting it loose upon the enemy.

Another ghost from his past, come to haunt him – a former classmate, who'd crawled into Jim's bed through the pulling-pigtails method, in which he forced his way into Jim's life and grabbed his attention by pulling pranks and otherwise being obnoxious. Somehow, it had worked: they'd fallen into bed together countless time. It had never been love, just overflowing passion. Sometimes Jim had hated him for it – for being able to break through his shields, time and time again.

It was one of the reasons why Jim insisted upon being the instigator, now; to have control over the situation, so that others could not control him. Because Finnegan had undoubtedly controlled him, constantly taking him off guard, by surprise, shocking him with his daring and his… skills. Jim had hated that he couldn't say no to the bastard, that he would tell himself "no more" and a week later find Finnegan in his bed again.

He had lost himself in that whirlwind relationship, falling prey to young passions and desires, and he refused to ever allow himself to do so again.

Staring into Finnegan's smug grin brought back too many memories, too many passionate nights full of scratching and biting and laughter. What was this place,that it kept dredging up old loves, while taking his new one from him?

The reminder of Bones' death sent a sudden thrill of agonized rage through him, and he leapt Finnegan again. Hit him over and over, giving him pain for all of Jim's pain, for every kiss stolen, every night regretted, every insecurity made stronger, every sharp jab or joke that cut too deeply, for Bones and regrets –

He would never be that foolish again, would never allow another to control him through his desire, his feelings. Love would not be his master.

* * *

Bones was alive.

Jim watched him walk up with a thrill of shock and elation coursing through him, relief making his head spin and his knees weak. _Alive_. Joy brought a smile to his face, and across the field he saw Spock, looking almost as thrilled. No one else would ever be able to tell, but Jim could read it in his eyes.

After everything, after the explanation given by the 'guardian' of the place, and the shore leave had officially begun, Jim walked up to Bones in a stupor, unable to keep from laughing.

"Damn, Jim, what happened to you?"

The Captain glanced at his outfit and shook his head. "It's nothing. I just…" Smiling, Jim brought his hands to his friend's shoulders, feeling a thousand things bombarding him.

This was his chance. Bones loved him, and he loved Bones – and not five minutes ago, he'd thought any chance they could be together had died, that his love had turned to ashes. Now, with joyous relief flooded him, rushing through his veins, he realized this was a second chance, and it was time to seize it, to tell Bones the truth, to pull him into his arms and kiss him deeply –

"Captain," Two heads turned to face Spock, who stood with an eyebrow cocked, hands behind his back. "I shall be returning to the ship now. Enjoy your shore leave." Spock nodded to him, then turned to the doctor. For half a second it looked as if he might speak, but he didn't, and then the light of transport took him away.

Shaking his head, Bones chuckled. "As chilly and distant as ever. I'd at least have thought my death would make him happy enough for a smile or something."

"Bones!"

"What?" The doctor was smiling, almost cheerful, and though it made Jim beyond elated to see it, he felt the fire inside dimming. "Hey, you okay Jim?"

Slowly, the Captain nodded, lowering his hands. "I'm fine, Bones. Just… it's good to have you back."

Bones smiled at him, but something about it looked weak, broken. "Good to be back, Captain."

"Doctor?"

Again, they both turned, this time to face Yeoman Barrows. Bones gave a nervous chuckle, and approached the Yeoman, taking her outstretched hand.

"I'll see you later, Jim." He called back. "Have fun!"

"Right." Jim didn't bother smiling. "You too."

"Jim?"

He didn't have to turn to know who stood there: Ruth, in all her glory, a shade of the past. She was better than Finnegan, at least. Still, he remained where he was, watching Bones go, hands trembling, arm half outstretched as if to reach out and stop him.

"Are you coming, Jim?"

Swallowing, he forced himself to turn to her. He took her hand. A ghost was better than nothing at all.

* * *

Spock stood in his laboratory, considering facts and figures, working on his research.

He did not think of the Shore Leave planet. He did not consider the likelihood that Jim had confided his feelings in the doctor, the possible percentages that they were at this very moment consummating their newfound relationship.

He did not think of them.

He thought about sciences, the inconvertible facts: such as force, gravity, relativity, and the impossibility that that anyone would ever chose him as a lover, let alone anyone like Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy.


	9. Control

**Episode Seventeen**

**Control**

**Set During and Post 'The Galileo Seven'**

No matter how many times he came close to losing them it never stopped hurting when Jim found himself standing between his duties and his friends.

He could not abandon them. Though he knew he was to blame, though he realized that thousands of people were depending on the cure his ship was carrying, he couldn't forsake them yet. Jim didn't think he could ever forsake them - be forced to let them go perhaps. But inside he would never be able to let them go.

A dozen lost chances danced before his eyes - why had he never told either of them the truth of his feelings? Why had he kept his love to himself? Now they might never know. Now they might be dead.

Jim refused to believe it. They just had to be okay. No other outcome was acceptable.

* * *

Though it was an uncomfortable thought, Spock accepted his death as the mostly like outcome of the mission.

Should they manage to make the shuttle workable again there was still too much weight between all of them to make it fly; as senior officer it fell to him to stay behind. He did not think any of the humans would care. They did not like him - it was illogical but true that humans tended to allow disapproval of a course of action to shift to the person taking the action. In addition to misunderstanding his own Vulcan culture of internalizing and controlling emotion to having none, led all of them to find him cold and uncaring.

He didn't care to correct them in their assumptions of him. Spock had found that ignorance was rarely cured even by direct reproach, for it was too strikingly imbedded in the mind. He would be dead soon anyway.

It irked him that his control was weakening in the face of that fact. He snapped at a crew member earlier and could not keep the ire from his voice. A Vulcan should be at peace with death when death is the only logical option. It should not cause him pain.

Standing he approached the back of the ship and heard someone standing to follow. "Spock."

Irritation grew though Spock tried to hold it down - and something somber, almost mournful, as well. Spock grew angry at himself for mourning, and angrier still for being angry, but in his current mental state found he could not repress it. Instead, he turned his furious gaze towards Bones.

The doctor was examining him, frustration and concern in his narrowed gaze. "You plan on being the one to stay behind don't you?"

The Vulcan found himself watching the doctor's lips; the way they stretched around words, how they pressed together in a firm furious line. He was a dead man. Was there not a human tradition of having a passionate last night on earth?

But he was not human, and though he may have, for half a second, considered it, they had no time, and allowing emotions to overtake him in the last moments of his life would be an insult to everything he had ever done, all he had tried to be during his life.

"It is only logical."

"Damn logic, Spock!" The doctor cursed viciously, taking the Vulcan back at the tone. He had expected the doctor to be against any plan which included the sacrifice of one team member, but this was not a doctor acting in concern for one of his crewmen, out of a vested interest in life. No, it was much too… passionate for that. "There's no way a single one of us is leaving this planet and letting someone stay behind – and I sure as hell won't leave without you!"

Cocking an eyebrow in his usual fashion, Spock tucked his arms behind his back. "And what would you propose doctor? That every member of the team die in an illogical, human expression of defiance?"

"I don't know, okay? You're the leader you figure it out!" McCoy, cheeks flushed, jabbed a finger into Spock's chest. "But I'm not leaving anyone behind, especially not you!"

Both Spock's eyebrows went skyward, and he stared in fascination as the doctor's eyes widened and his blush tripled. How intriguing. It did in fact seem that this was Leonard McCoy, the person, insisting that Spock live, and not McCoy the CMO doing his duty as an officer. This must have meant that McCoy had a vested personal interest in Spock's safety which meant – which meant he cared.

Fascinating.

The doctor, cowed, slumped at the shoulders, looking away, and Spock could not help but watch as the man's tongue danced over his dry lips. Then, the human seemed to nod to himself, fiery eyes drifting back to Spock – and Leonard leapt on him, hands cupping his cheeks too tightly, mouth sealing shut over Spock's so quickly and violently their teeth clacked together awkwardly. Spock stood in stunned horror and exhilaration, hardly able to believe what was occurring, and yet also disgusted by the act, and yet… interested, at least somewhat, in its continuance?

Fascinating!

* * *

It was not the best kiss Leonard McCoy ever had. Granted, it had been years since he'd been able to practice, and he'd never kissed a tight-ass like Spock, who stood stiffly with his lips pursed, refusing to part them – and then Leonard remembered that this was Spock, and why hadn't the Vulcan flown into a rage and killed him yet, or at least tossed him away?

He realized that Spock, in his emotionally repressed state, was probably repulsed by the action but unwilling to exhibit an emotional display to stop it. Which meant – Leonard was forcing himself on the man! This might be the last mission they ever had together, this might be the death of both of them, but Leonard McCoy was a gentleman and he was not going to force himself on anybody.

So he pulled away – only for two blistering hot hands to fly out and grab his shoulders, roughly tugging him back in. It was too rough; they collided, and Leonard bit his lip by mistake, but in the next instance their lips were touching again, and this time Spock seemed to be trying to copy Leonard's actions. He moved his lips, and Leonard moaned against him. It was one of the most inexperienced, painful, rough kisses he'd ever had, but it was wonderful because it was with Spock.

Christ on a cracker… he was kissing Spock!

It ended almost as soon as it began, with both men shoving away from the other, moving apart fast like they'd caught fire. Bones met Spock's eyes and saw swirling within them more emotion than he'd ever seen: fear, hope, misery, and a specific kind of horror McCoy knew well. The kind that existed in most every inexperienced lover who'd first been touched by the fires of passion; he'd seen it in dozens of young, experimenting officers who weren't sure how to start, or what to do. But this… it was more than that. The Vulcan seemed honestly horrified that they'd kissed, even though McCoy knew he liked it and that wasn't just because the man had a tent in his pants.

Spock lifted a trembling hand towards his face, but caught himself midway and forced the limb down to his side. He straightened his shirt, stood tall again; all composed Vulcan except for the swelling which had begun in his lips, and the slight green tint to his cheeks. Even the… problem… he'd had a moment ago seemed to have dissipated. Damn Vulcan control over their every bodily function. McCoy didn't have that kind of luck.

Spock stormed away without a word, fleeing the ship, leaving McCoy dazed with heady passion and a throbbing in his uniform pants, slumped against the wall.

Spock… Spock had kissed him back. Holy God, they had honestly made out like two horny teenagers in the back of the ship, only meters away from where Scotty was toiling on repairs. And Spock had liked it.

Now if only they could survive this, get back to the ship and explore this further!

* * *

Jim Kirk sat on the bridge, impatiently waiting responses from the away teams, drumming a beat on the arm of his chair. There was nothing he could do, and he hated that; being so useless when the people he loved where in danger.

He did love them, though he rarely admitted it to himself. Love was a luxury, a distraction, no Starfleet Captain could afford. Lust was bad enough. It drove the mind wild, distracted and made complications, but Jim couldn't go without. He'd tried, once. The bridge crew had never understood why their usually mild tempered captain had spent a week yelling at them for absolutely nothing. When Bones had found out why he was so grumpy, he'd told him to fix it, in no uncertain terms.

But love was a different beast, something that could not be satiated. If Spock and Bones died… Jim would be beside himself. He wasn't sure he could recover. One would have been bad enough, but both? At the same time? He'd be desolate.

That was what upset him, and frightened him in equal terms: how dependent he was upon the both of them. Oh Jim knew he needed them to lead, that they both served in valuable capacities on the ship, and that as friends they bolstered his strength, but this was more than that. He needed them to breathe, to live, to function. Without them he would crash and burn and the Enterprise might go with him.

Jim had worked hard not to be dependent on anyone. Tarsus had taught him that relying on anyone, even respected elders who were supposed to watch over you was folly. Relying upon the guidance of adults in the colony had almost gotten him killed. It was the adults who had refused to see the truth, refused to realize sooner what Kodos was doing, refused to act. And when the adults were dead, the children were next. No, Jim had no one to rely upon on Tarsus.

On Tarsus, he had stood up and taken it upon himself to survive, and from then forward swore he would be reliant on no one. It didn't work; Finnegan, Gary, Ruth, Carol… throughout his years at the academy and the early part of his Starfleet career, he'd flitted from person to person, become dependent upon them.

Finnegan had been first: a classmate, a rough and tumble friend, who had eagerly introduced Kirk to the stranger and wilder aspects of sex he'd never known he wanted. Some of them he didn't – but that didn't matter. What Finnegan wanted, he got. Kirk had quickly learned denying him just led to more pain, emotional or otherwise.

Then came Carol in the aftermath, the woman he'd clung to, who had seen his wounds and bandaged them, held him through nightmares, caressed him. She hadn't been domineering like Finnegan, but she'd taken control in another way – he'd become emotionally dependent upon her, the comfort she gave him a drug, but he did not really love her. When she'd told him she was pregnant, that she wanted him to stay and marry her… the shock and repulsion that rose in him at the idea had shocked him.

So he'd left, and had never seen her again. Then he'd met Gary in the service, and for a time followed in his shadow, looked up to him for guidance, hoped beyond hope that Gary would make things easier, Gary would make things okay… but Gary had been more like Finnegan than Kirk had supposed. No, they never had sex, they were just friends, but Gary had a habit of ignoring when Kirk didn't want to do something or go somewhere – he didn't know the meaning of no.

Ruth had been a fling during shore leave, one he had thrown himself into with abandon, spending a whole week in her bed, so desperate not to be alone he swore to quit the service and stay with her; only to wake on the fifth day and find her gone. Sometimes he wondered if he'd scared her off with his sudden, lightning-fast devotion, or if she'd planned to love and leave him all along.

Experience told Kirk that allowing people in, giving them control, was a huge mistake. In lovemaking, the person in control was the one who didn't get hurt. All his dalliances with women, he was in control: the one hitting on them, the one propositioning them, the one taking the lead. And when he left in the end, they were the ones hurt by it, because they had let him in. But Jim would be okay, because these quick flings never reached his heart. They fulfilled a need, a bodily function, but they couldn't hurt him because he never allowed them to.

But despite his insistence never to become attached again, the distance he had placed between himself and others, the lofty heights to which he aspired to keep his captaincy, Spock and Bones had wormed their way in.

And here he was, being derelict in duty, letting love rule him – being _controlled_.

Yet he could not bring himself to stop.

* * *

When the Enterprise beamed them back aboard the ship, McCoy was so happy he almost leapt for joy and kissed Spock again. He held himself in check; glancing at the Vulcan, who was quickly making his way towards the bridge, the doctor found he was doubtful such an exchange would happen again.

He'd been a fool to think that just because Spock kissed him back in a rare moment of emotional compromise, Spock had truly desired him. Maybe he'd been acting on instinct, or maybe he'd needed the touch to ground himself during such a hard moment – McCoy didn't know. What he did know was that Spock was being even more distant than usual.

It had been stupid to think Spock really wanted him, the doctor thought, grumbling under his breath as he went back to sick bay. He chided his foolishness at getting his hopes up for many hours as he worked, until the end of the midday shift when the door to his office opened, revealing Spock.

Leonard leapt to his feet, shocked and horrified, hands trembling at his sides. Was Spock here to discipline him for sexual harassment? Was this a dressing down? Had he told the captain? Worse and worse explanations swam through his dizzy head as he nodded to his superior officer. Surprisingly, the worse thought was: what if I've ruined what little friendship and trust there was between us?

He didn't know; he could only stand and watch as Spock, in his usual peaceful control, approached his desk.

* * *

Spock watched Leonard fidget behind his desk, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, and found to his surprise that the sight was… endearing. It was not a thought he had ever had about a sentient being, outside of his pet sehlat, and only contemplated it for a moment before deciding it was inappropriate to think of.

The human variant of the 'kiss' which he and the doctor had shared had lasted a total of thirteen point four seconds, and yet despite its brevity Spock had found himself thinking of little else when he had not been concerned with his duties. At strange, inopportune moments during his work, he would suddenly remember the stifled moan rumbling in McCoy's throat, or the way the doctor's wet lips felt molded against his own, and would be forced to take a moment to meditate the thoughts away. It was… irresponsible, to be so concerned with a bodily function he did not have time for.

Spock did care for McCoy, he – he found him aesthetically pleasing. Their banter was intellectually stimulating, and though the doctor could be coarser than Spock cared for, often he was adept and insightful, a valuable addition to the mission. Spock… valued Leonard. And in a small, secret part of himself where emotion flourished he felt something, an unnameable fondness, for him.

But succumbing to physical desires was a human weakness, and Spock did not have physical desires. It shamed him that he had so easily given into Leonard, had reacted when he should have pushed him away and continued working. As A Vulcan, he did not need to mate for pleasure, and hopefully would never be saddled with the mating drive of his full-blooded brethren.

So he had come to inform Leonard that such a lapse in control would never happen again. Only, the doctor was blushing, and biting his lip, warm eyes staring directly at Spock's, and the Vulcan knew that the doctor's pulse was rising.

A few concerns flitted through Spock's mind. On the shuttle, Leonard had seemed to care for him, to be invested in his safety. It did not seem to be the kiss based in passionate, aimlessly directed; it was love, furiously shared. Leonard had what humans would call "feelings" for him.

For a brief instance something flared alive in Spock, but the Vulcan shoved it down viciously. Whether or not Bones had "feelings" for him, Spock was Vulcan. Spock did not have feelings.

"I…" He began to apologize, to explain. Clearing his throat, he lifted his eyes from the sweat pooling at Leonard's throat. "I wish to apologize for the incident in the shuttle today. It was a brief lapse in my control and shall not happen again."

The doctor's eyes widened further, then narrowed, and the tinged to his cheeks changed from desire and embarrassment to anger, passion. "You saying that was a mistake, Spock? Because it didn't feel like one to me."

Spock was uncertain what that meant. In fact, he only now considered what it might meant that McCoy had initiated the kiss in the first place. A means to prove that Spock had human desires – to try and shatter his Vulcan control? A new way of pressuring him to be human and emotional? It was the doctor's prerogative; Spock found a flush of anger surge in him he could not control. Underneath that rush, any ideas that McCoy's reasoning had been rooted in love vanished.

"I do not appreciate being exploited, doctor; while I understand humans draw comfort from physical contact during times of extreme stress, there were five other officers aboard the ship from whom you could have achieved the same end result, who were not Vulcan. The only logical explanation in your choosing me for such a display was an attempt to elicit an emotional response, and as you have found it… sporting, to attempt to insult me and my way of life, I believe the reasoning is sound."

More and more color came to McCoy's cheeks, his eyes growing wider, and the trembling in his limp hands became clenched fists bristling with anger. "Now you listen here you computerized –"

"Any further attempts to harass me in such a manner, Doctor, shall be reported to the captain." The wind fell out of the doctor's anger, his face paling, and Spock fought the urge to smirk. "Doctor." He inclined his head, and turned, leaving the room. He did not rush, he just… moved quickly.

The further he moved from med bay, the further his chest seemed to sink, the more it tightened. He had acted more than properly – he could have reported Leonard, and had it added to his personal record, but instead handled it in a private manner. Spock had been more than gracious. Surely now that the matter was settled, they would never have to discuss it again, and Spock would cease to be preoccupied with the instance.

Three hours later, Spock gave up meditating, furious and frustrated with his inability to clear his mind – completely fixated upon that brief, 13.4 second kiss.

* * *

Captain Kirk stood in his quarters, wearing only a towel, having just come out of the shower, when the intercom rang. "Just a minute."

"It's me, Jim!"

Recognizing Bones' voice, Jim inclined his head. "Let me put something on quick."

"Jim, dammit just – just let me in!"

The doctor's voice was surprisingly rough. Brow furrowed, Jim threw on a robe and approached the door. He released the lock and watched his friend storm in with – with tears running down his cheeks?

"Bones, what?"

"Nothing, Jim, I'm not –" Hiccuping, the doctor ran a shaky hand over his hair, looking for all the world like a panicked animal. "I just – dammit I can't –"

Jim opened his arms, didn't say a word, just approached the doctor and Bones fell limp into his arms. He didn't openly cry, didn't sob, but he shook in Jim's embrace, and the captain stood with him held tightly, rocking him like a child.

He was in control. He might be naked and holding one of his dearest loves in his arms, vulnerable and upset, but he was in control. Bones had no idea of the truth, and he never would, and neither would Spock. They were both alive, and though it looked dark at the moment, things would get better. They would go back to normal – and Jim would always be in control.

He should be happy about that, he thought, running a hand through Bones' hair. But he couldn't lie to himself, or ignore how his heart sank. He wasn't happy, at all. But at least he had his precious control.


	10. Incomplete

**Episode Eighteen**

**Incomplete**

**Post The Squire of Gothos and Arena**

The gymnasium wasn't empty when Captain Kirk sauntered in, all bluster and anger, but it emptied quickly once he was inside. It was late, anyway; very few people were up and training at this hour. Of those who were, none wanted to get in the way of a boiling mad Captain Kirk.

Jim quickly made off with his shirt, not bothering to step into the locker room to change; he kept his uniform pants on, but slipped his boots and socks off, setting them all at the side of the mats. Then he approached the punching bag.

He could still feel the aches and pains that had, hours ago, been his, but they were gone; the Metrons had healed him after his fight with the Gorn, and Kirk had found he wished they hadn't. Pain was memory, it was something earned, and he found he couldn't rest until he could feel it again.

Pain meant you were alive, even if it was in a dark, harsh way. Only the dead did not feel pain. So Kirk threw himself at the punching bag, letting loose. While his body thrived, he fell into his mind.

Not so long ago Kirk had contemplated seducing the two most important men in his life; knowing that one already loved him, and the other cared in his own distant way, believing in his own abilities of seduction that he could have them both. Now, after weeks of trying, Kirk wondered if he'd overestimated his technique.

Then again, he hadn't really had all that much time to try. What with that ridiculous mess with the Squire, and then the calamity of destruction at the Federation outpost which led to his fight with the Gorn, he'd been pretty preoccupied. What little time he had been able to spend with them, he'd noticed something had… changed.

At first, they seemed even more at odds with each other than before, just after that heartbreaking night when Bones had stormed into his quarters in tears. The days after that had been bitter and tense, with the doctor taking every potshot he could at the Vulcan officer. But not long after, there was a sudden switch, an unexplained change in their interactions. Not back to normal… better than normal.

The doctor, when asked about it, smirked and glanced back at his tricorder.

"I just figured something out about our Mr. Spock, is all," Leonard had chuckled a little. "He thinks he's got me pegged, but I know his number."

That had been no explanation at all, but Leonard wouldn't give and there was no way Jim was asking Spock. Which was fine, in the end; they weren't tearing into each other anymore. In fact, their interactions seemed tinged with almost reluctant fondness. Leonard still took every chance he could to rile the Vulcan, but he didn't do so with misanthropic anger anymore. And Spock, while seemingly exasperated by the antics of the doctor, did not appear to be truly bothered by it.

It was a mystery, all right; and it bothered Jim.

Somehow the two of them, his best friends, were getting along better than they ever had. Something had transpired between them without his knowledge – before, he'd always been needed to break up their fights, to balance their tempers. Now they seemed to get on just fine without him.

Jim hit the bag especially hard and felt the skin of his knuckles split.

"Captain?"

Startled, Jim spun around. Speak of the devil.

"Spock." Running a hand over his forehead, Jim stumbled away from the mat. His first officer was dressed only in his black undershirt and uniform pants; his boots were gone, too. "Need me for something?"

"Negative, Captain. I thought perhaps you might require a sparring partner."

Sparring? That was new. Once or twice they'd worked together to demonstrate moves for the crew, but they'd never really fought. Jim wasn't a masochist; he knew Spock had the upper hand in more ways than one, and more than that, sparring would bring them into close enough contact that it would be practically torture.

But could he really say no?

"Sure, Spock." Shrugging, he gestured to the mat. The two of them stepped onto it, and Jim tried to ignore the skip in his heartbeat. "What made you want to spar?"

"It is far preferable for you to vent your emotions upon a suitable partner rather than injure yourself against the equipment." Jim glanced down at his bleeding knuckles and shrugged again.

"It's nothing, Spock." He rolled his shoulder, nerves quaking in his stomach, wondering if he could get out of this. On the other hand… there was a part of him that was eager to touch Spock, whatever the scenario. "Don't feel obligated to do this for me."

"I am your first officer, Jim." The Vulcan insisted, adopting one of his Vulcan fighting poses. "It is my duty to ensure your safety."

Chuckling, Jim adopted his own pose. "Whatever you say, Spock. I think you just want a chance to mop the floor with me. Vent some frustrations of your own."

"Vulcans do not have frustrations."

Jim didn't reply; he flew at the Vulcan, fists raised, and let the fury take over.

* * *

Dr. McCoy rolled his eyes at his nurse one more time as her firm hands guided him out of Sick Bay.

"You have been down here more than twelve hours." Chapel insisted again. "I don't want to see you until gamma shift tomorrow."

"Ain't I the one in charge here?"

"Get out, Doctor." Chapel shoved him again, and when he turned he saw her beatific smile before the doors slid shut behind him. Leonard grumbled and rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Much as it irked him to be bossed around in his own med bay, it was nice to have somebody who cared.

He considered, for a moment, going to his room; but there was no way he could. He'd just gotten out of an extensive five hour surgery and the adrenaline was still coursing through him. He felt alive, brimming with energy, and going to his room to drink wasn't going to help calm that down.

Maybe a run on a treadmill, he thought to himself, sticking his hands in his pockets as he headed for the gym. It didn't take him long to arrive; but when he did, he slid to a halt in the doorway, staring at the fight occurring in front of him.

Jim and Spock were going at it, hard, faces contorted into heavy scowls, limbs moving with tenacious force. Jim was half naked, and his torso glistened with sweat; while Spock wore black, as he always did, highlighting his smooth, trim form. McCoy about drooled at the sight, fumbling against the wall, mouth dropped open.

Damn. If that wouldn't fuel his daydreams for the next twenty years or so… Leonard stayed where he was, crossing his arms, allowing himself this indulgence.

When it came to his impossible aspirations in reference to Jim and Spock, McCoy had found he was resigned to his fate. It had been better after he'd realized what the… incident… on the Galileo with Spock had meant, why the Vulcan had been so harsh upon returning.

He'd been scared.

Now, there was no way Spock actually desired Leonard, the washed up old doctor; but he did, apparently, feel desire, and did not realize it until that crash course in kissing on the shuttle. Shocked that he could actually feel something so powerful, he lashed out – typical psychology. Spock's insulting diatribe in the med bay was an instinctive reaction meant to protect him from the feelings which so confused and overwhelmed him.

Once Bones had realized that, his anger at Spock had melted away. Because this meant the Vulcan really did feel – it was absolute proof, which Leonard had never really had. He'd always been sure the Vulcan could feel, because he focused so much on not feeling – he "doth protest too much", to put it in old Shakespearean. But this was proof.

In light of that, Bones became even more invested in provoking the Vulcan, trying to get behind his shell, because now he knew there was something there to reach. It was foolish to ignore such an important aspect of himself – to be so reverent of his Vulcan half and so ignorant of his Human side. Bones wasn't going to let Spock hide from that desire, or any other feelings, he was suppressing, just because he was scared, or because his damnable Vulcan breeding told him feeling nothing was superior to feeling anything at all.

It was that superiority that irked him most; Vulcans loved to look down on the feeling species of the galaxy. So much for IDIC, Bones thought dryly, letting his eyes dance across Spock's form as the Vulcan fought against Jim.

He was all the way across the gym, out of sight of both of them, but he could see them – and when they began to speak, he could hear them too.

* * *

"Captain," Spock spoke with an even tone, which by the irritated look on Jim's face, bothered the Captain. It was merely due to a difference of biology – Vulcans did not show fatigued through increased respiration or sweat. "Over the course of the last eight days you have appeared to be in an increasingly stressed mood. May I ask why?"

Kirk threw a punch, then another, followed by a kick. Spock blocked each one.

"Nature of the job, Spock." Kirk replied with a terse tone. "Stress is part of the package."

"That is correct. But I have come to the conclusion that this is not entirely the source of your distress." If Kirk was amping up the pounding, Spock didn't comment - he didn't seem to be much phased by it either.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I believe you do, Captain." There, finally! The Vulcan's breath hitched as a blow hit him rather hard, and for a moment Kirk felt the rush of satisfaction. Then Spock turned the tables and Jim found himself flat on his back under him. "I believe the source of your anxiety has little to do with your position as Captain."

"And what, exactly," Kirk huffed as he attempted to shove Spock off of him. "Do you know about my anxiety?"

"I know that you have yet to speak to Dr. McCoy about your... mutual affections."

It was Kirk's turn for hitched breath. "Are you ever going to let go of that?"

"It is illogical to not seek out a desired mate, particularly since the doctor desires you in return."

"How can I be sure of that?"

Spock cocked an eyebrow, still holding Jim down rather easily. One of his legs was thrown over Kirk's and their thighs brushed with every thrash as Jim tried throwing the Vulcan off.

"Then your anxiety finds it source in fear of rejection?"

"No! I'm not - there's no anxiety!"

"That is not correct."

"Damn it Spock!" Jim, letting his head fall back to the mat, hard, glared heavily up at his first officer. "Of all people you should understand not wanting to talk about something - about repressing things. You do it all the damn time! I haven't talked to Bones about it because I don't want to, and I'm not going to."

"I do not understand." Brow furrowed, Spock weakened his hold for a second and Kirk was finally able to shove him off. He followed the momentum, turning the surprised Vulcan onto his back and pinning him.

"Spock -" When Jim's eyes met Spock's, wide and deep brown and so full of churning emotions, of concern and even fear, the human's anger evaporated. He gave a sigh, trying to control himself and pull his thoughts together. "Bones is my friend. I've known him for years, we're as close as brothers, and he's one of the only people on this ship I can really let go with. He means more to me than I can say, and to - to risk that for sexual desire is the height of illogic."

"What is there to risk?" Spock's eyes narrowed.

"Everything. I'm Captain, he's CMO, and our professional relationship is already compromised enough as is. He's a divorcee who still gripes about 'the ex' and I'm Starfleet's playboy who can't keep it in his pants. Do you really see a relationship between the two of us working out? Not to mention -" Jim's breath caught in his throat as he realized what he was about to reveal, and he let Spock go, leaping to his feet. He'd allowed himself to become too relaxed around the man. "Forget it." Spinning on his heel, Jim stormed towards the door.

"Jim."

The cajoling tone of Spock's voice, almost emotional in its intensity, made him slow to a halt.

"I apologize for intruding. I meant no insult, I simply... I was concerned for your well being." The Vulcan paused, and Jim could almost see him straightening his posture, clasping his hands behind his back. "You are not happy."

A barking laugh escaped the Captain as ironic amusement bubbled to life in his chest. "Neither are you. And don't tell me Vulcans don't 'feel happiness', because I know now that you do feel. You just... repress it."

His friend hesitated. "Vulcans do not emphasize the importance of happiness the way humans do."

Jim grunted. As he spoke he continued towards the door. "Well, emphasized or not, we're pretty bad at it, anyway."

* * *

Jim just barely missed Bones on his way out. If Jim hadn't of halted at the Vulcan's voice earlier, Bones would never have had the time to duck out of the way. He felt foolish and underhanded doing so, but Leonard would take that over the reaction he'd get from Jim if he was found eavesdropping.

Leonard's gran always said people who eavesdropped never heard a nice thing about themselves - Leonard wasn't sure if that conversation proved her right or not. He was still reeling from it, trying to process what had been said, to interpret it clearly before his memory began fogging up the words.

Stunned, he stooped behind a weight bench, hands on his knees, staring open mouthed at the far wall. His head fell back against the equipment.

Jim loved him.

Footsteps echoed through the room then halted, and the vibration of the door sliding open echoed through the room. Bones hesitated to stand, though he was relatively sure it was safe going now, but his heart was aflame and he wasn't sure his limbs would carry him.

"Jim loves me," He whispered aloud, incredulous.

"Indeed." Came a voice from the door. "Though I begin to wonder if that alone is enough." With that enigmatic statement he strode through the door.

Spock had left before Bones could come up with a response; but in time, as he stumbled drunkenly back to his quarters, he did come up with one.

He tried imagining himself with Jim in a thousand scenarios: on dates; eating meals; sharing a bed; sharing a life. Each image seemed hollow, fake, almost sour. Leonard frowned as he thought of them, trying to pinpoint the problem.

It took half a second for his brain to supply the image of the dour Vulcan in those scenarios - quoting illogical human behavior on dates; eating salads next Jim and Bones; resting between them in bed, a real Vulcan furnace; sharing their lives. A world-weary sigh escaped him at the realization as it sunk in. Suddenly he was sure he knew why Jim had never spoken up.

On the Enterprise, Jim, Bones, and Spock were a triad, at team, equals in most everything; and without Spock in their personal life, no matter how much they might love each other, Leonard and Jim were simply incomplete.


	11. The Walls We Build

**Episode Twenty**

**The Walls We Build**

**Post Tomorrow is Yesterday and Court Martial**

As a trained psychologist, McCoy knew all about the defense mechanisms people used, the walls they built. He long recognized not only his own methods of self-delusion, but those of his fellow officers. They were meant for protection, to guard that which was vulnerable inside a person. But there was a rather huge difference between knowing about the concept, and addressing it in his personal life.

Doctor-wise, he could easily see through the walls his Captain built, the shutters drawn tight. He didn't even need highfalutin, fancy language to describe it. Jim was wounded; by Tarsus, of course, and perhaps other traumas that happened in its wake which Leonard knew nothing about. One look at the man made it plain that he'd never had a chance to heal those wounds. The way he handled Kodos made it clear that after twenty years, Tarsus was still a mighty sore spot. Bones knew some wounds never fully faded, but there was a world of difference between an old scar that sometimes ached, and a still bleeding wound.

Instead of addressing his pains in any healthy manner, Jim took to throwing himself headlong into danger and romance, into violent away missions and quick dalliances with strange women, in what Leonard had named the James Bond coping method. In laying with strangers, Jim could recieve the physical comfort he needed without being vulnerable to somebody he'd have to face again the next day, or work with in the following months or years. The violence, the rush, Bones theorized, made him feel alive in a way he hadn't since Tarsus. It was likely that Jim hadn't quite felt at peace with himself since then, like a soldier returned home unsure of what to do without war.

Walls. Barriers. McCoy could see where Jim had built them, but damn if he could get through them. "I'm fine, Bones." He'd insist. "Stop worrying." Like that would console him any.

Spock was just as defensive and distant, though he walled himself off for very different reasons. Culture. Pride. The Vulcan way was stifling, limiting and abrasive on the soul, in Bones' honest opinion. He knew all about being sensitive to different ways of life, of xeno-psychology and biology, but this was different. He was sure the stress of being caught between two worlds weighed hard on Spock in ways the man didn't want anyone to see. He could hedge and obfuscate all he wanted, but at the end of the day, Spock was half human no matter how he denied it. He could never be totally Vulcan no matter how he tried, and trying would eventually drive him mad.

Trying so insistently to be Vulcan and only Vulcan, ashamed of half his lineage, led Spock to make choices and take actions Bones knew weren't healthy. Part of that was the shell Spock lived in - a barrier which kept everyone out, save Jim; and even he could only reach so far.

Not to let himself off the hook; Bones knew he was the worst of the three of them. Oh, the other two might survive day by day by lying to themselves, but Bones was caught up in a greater facade. Lying to everyone save himself, hiding hi true nature behind bitterness and disgruntled humor. Jim thought the ex-wife was all that kept the doctor back, the reason for his rude, rough attitude? Bones couldn't help but chuckle into his drink. The Captain had no idea. None of them did.

From his seat behind his desk, he glanced across his office, to the shelf upon the wall. It held his only personal possessions in the room: an old baseball, and a photograph of his younger self, standing with a beautiful blonde woman, a twelve year old girl, and an older man with a gentle smile. His family. What used to be his family.

None of the crew knew the monster masquerading as a doctor on their ship. If Bones had his way, they'd never know. If that meant he could never let them in, that he had to watch as Jim and Spock grew closer as an unwanted third wheel... he would. No other option was available to him.

* * *

It was strange, sitting in the rec room without Spock. The chess board was arranged before the Captain, untouched, but his typical challenger was nowhere to be found. The chair was empty.

Jim tried not to look at it, because it was a clear reminder of the distance which had insinuated itself between Spock and Jim. Bones too, for that matter. It was as if his heart had been split into two and each piece stolen from him, and he ached where it once had been. Jim clutched his drink tighter.

How could he fix this? How could they navigate this strange void between friends and lovers, and come out safely on the other side? He didn't know. None of his lovers had ever been his friends. Few nowadays were anything more than strangers. Jim wasn't sure he knew how; how to let himself go, to be openly amorous with someone who knew him, with the two men who were already so keenly aware of his faults, his failures. Would their loyalty and affection survive an even deeper understanding?

Frowning, Jim tried to steer his thoughts away from darker things, but it was hard. Life aboard the Enterprise was never easy, but it had been downright depressing recently. The image of a handsome young American pilot flashed in front of his eyes and he could barely hold back a wince.

Their trial in the past had been startling enough; Jim had never imagined he'd find himself above an Earth from hundreds of years ago. But what he'd never expected was the prejudice, the hatred, which had been present in the handsome pilot.

They'd talked; Jim had shown him the ship, found the man interesting enough, and it seemed as if he'd responded to his flirtations. But when he'd gone past flirting, towards insinuation... the other man had reacted with horror, disgust, even repulsion. Kirk had flirted with straight men and been denied before, but he'd never seen such blatant hate before.

It was hard not to be shaken by such a thing. Had humans really been so bigoted once? He knew his history, had read about human civilization before First Contact, before Starfleet. It was just hard to believe.

Of course, being court martial-ed, framed, and almost kicked out of Starfleet soon after hadn't been great either. The fact that an old flame had been the prosecutor had been the icing on the cake. Yet another of his quick loves, his rough and tumble friends, someone he'd been so sure could be the answer to all his loneliness and pain - a love that had burned bright and fast and died too quick. It seemed all his loves turned out that way.

Jim was shaken out of his morbid thoughts by the sound of metal scraping as the chair in front of him was moved. "I hope you don't mind, Captain." His eyes lifted to view Uhura's beauteous smile. "I thought you might enjoy a game?"

Jim glanced at the chess board and almost recoiled like he'd been bit. For a brief instant he was hit with a childish possessiveness: Chess was his and Spock's game! But the moment passed and he smiled. "Of course, lieutenant."

They started slow, and Jim quickly found it was almost relaxing without the need to combat Spock's Vulcan skills. Not to say Uhura wasn't good, but Spock was a level above them all when it came to games of logic, Jim included. There was something thrilling, invigorating, about the challenge of playing Spock. He almost always lost, but was so addicted to the rush of the game and their banter he kept coming back for more.

"Troubled, Captain?" His gaze met hers.

"We're off duty, lieutenant, you can call me Jim."

"All right then, Jim. Troubled?"

Chuckling, he moved a rook and took her bishop. "That obvious?" He looked up again and narrowed his eyes. "You too, huh?"

The way she shrugged and looked away was answer enough. "I'll be fine." She looked back up, saw his bitter-tinged smile, and smiled bitterly too.

What a pair we make, Jim thought.

Their game continued in comfortable quiet for a while; it was a close match. But neither of them really seemed to be trying, or focusing very hard. It was more of a distraction than anything else.

After a time, Jim began to notice a strange habit of Uhura's; her eyes kept darting past Jim's right shoulder, staring incessantly, until it was her turn. He was half tempted to turn and look that way but he didn't want to embarrass her.

The game kept on. She took his queen in a risky gambit - damn - but he was relatively sure the game would be his in the next five turns.

Uhura took a moment to stand and get a drink from the replicator as Jim took his turn. When she sat back down, she steepled her hands over the glance and gave a sudden sigh.

"Jim," She began. "I am very tired."

Jim glanced up; unsure of what to say, he allowed for silence, and the lieutenant continued.

"I've done a lot to get here, a lot more than most. Earth might have come a long way but prejudice runs deep. I've had to work twice as much for half the gain compared to some of the senior officers in my department, men that I work with." She took a sip of the drink, her free hand falling to the table. "The field I'm in might not be as driven by math and science as engineering or medicine, but it's still technical, and humans have long believed women aren't meant for that sort of thing. But I knew what I wanted and I went for it: studied hard; took the toughest courses; sought out ever opportunity for advancement I could."

"I had to keep a tight leash on myself. No parties, little time for friends or family. If I wanted to be on the flagship I'd have to earn it. Most of all, that meant I couldn't have a significant other in my life. It would be too complicated. A distraction, for one. Most of the men I knew were in Starfleet, for another, and any relationship with someone in my department might lead to questions. Did she earn her position or... you know."

Jim nodded; he did know. That kind of horrid assumption was made of women most of all, but he'd felt its sting once, too. You don't become known as the 'Starfleet Slut' without someone questioning whether you earned the captaincy through the merit of your mind or the spread of your thighs.

"So I abstained. Controlled my urges, my desires, locked them away. I suppose I thought that if I worked hard enough, I'd be able to let my hair down one day without having to worry about it." A soft smile came over her, almost dreamy, as she glanced towards the view of space to her left. "But after four years of living like that... I couldn't turn it off."

"You'd become so used to keeping a reign on yourself, you couldn't let go." He smiled in recognition. He had trouble winding down: after a shift, on shore leave, he couldn't just let go of the training, the command which was an integral part of him.

"So now I'm here, working the same way, always in strict control of my work ethic, unable to 'let my hair down'." Suddenly her eyes darted above Jim's shoulder again, as they had been for the past thirty minutes. "But I'm beginning to wonder: what's the point? I've earned my place here, but I'm hardly enjoying it. I'm driving myself to the point I won't be able to keep this up. I've got to bend before I break."

She swallowed the rest of her drink in one go, then stood. "Thanks, Captain." She smiled as she stepped around the table. "I really needed that."

Jim turned to watch her go - and saw her saunter up to another table, where Montgomery Scott sat nursing a scotch by himself.

His eyebrows went skyward. Watching intently as Uhura began speaking to Scotty, whose own expression morphed from bored to intrigued. She took a seat across from him, her torso passing in front of Kirk's view of Scotty - when the man's face was observable again, he was beaming.

Kirk watched for a minute more, stunned, before letting loose a short laugh and turning back to the game. His gaze danced over the board until, with another chuckle, he stood and walked away.

* * *

Spock had been attempting meditation for two point four seven hours and found no success.

It was... difficult to distance himself from the missions, more so recently. Their last few mission had been particularly trying upon his control. Almost losing the Captain due to the machinations of a hate-driven human had been enough to raise his ire, but the experience of time travel to Earth; watching Kirk with the human pilot...

Behind his eyes he could perfectly remember the Captain's debonair smile, warm, shining eyes and handsome laughter, all directed the airman's way. How he'd flaunted himself, let touches linger as he walked with his fellow human. It had not worked, in fact, the captain perhaps not realizing the depth of social stigma against homosexuality at the time. The pilot's response... had not been kind.

Suddenly Spock remembered Kirk's expression when the pilot had recoiled, violently rebuking him and disavowing the future which allowed such 'perversions'. How the Captain had been so surprised, distraught even, and for a few moments been unable to school himself back to his usual controlled, even demeanor. For a moment he'd been visibly upset.

In Jim's moment of emotional compromise, Spock had found himself affected more than he could say, and almost compromised himself. Even more than eight days after the event, he found it still tormenting his mind... much as another moment was still vividly present in his memories, despite weeks having passed.

The kiss he shared with Dr. McCoy... their argument in the med bay... the betrayed, hurt expression on the doctor's face... these memories refused to leave him be, lingering in his mind during the day, fighting to the surface during meditation. It took all his strength of will to force them away.

These memories made it hard to evade the thought of subjects Spock had long avoided: intimacy, sexuality, romantic overtures. Vulcans married according to tradition, mated as biology demanded, and did not have romantic overtures.

Only... Spock thought of his parents, Sarek of Vulcan and Amanda Grayson, whom he had long been out of contact with. He still vividly remembered them both, and sometimes shared correspondence with his mother. He found it difficult, despite what logic would demand, to believe their's was a marriage of politics.

He could not see it. Growing up, he had long believed his father to be unsuited to his mother, to not be enough for her, and seeing her so lonely on Vulcan had convinced him of that truth. But he could not deny that his mother was an intelligent and independent woman and would hardly stay with a man who did not treat her well, whom she did not love. Sometimes he considered what his role might have been in that, if his existence had convinced her to stay, but he still could not convince themselves that neither of them had... feelings.

What did that say of him? A child of human and Vulcan heritage, born and raised on Vulcan, with little human involvement of any kind. Was it logical to expect him to one day marry T'Pring, his betrothed, to fulfill a duty to the family, the way a full Vulcan would? He could never have children. Their marriage would therefore be illogical, for if they did not marry to continue the family lines or unite them, there was no reason for the marriage.

He knew why his parents had initiated the bond... the threat of that time, which Spock very illogically hoped he would not be cursed with. Thinking of... that time, he became even more concerned about his feelings for his two human companions. Could they understand? Would they ever desire such a thing? Could they ever desire him, knowing what he might become, what might befall him?

It was too much. The very idea of being sexual... being naked and vulnerable in front of another, unable to keep the onslaught of physical and emotional effects at bay... and in addition to that, the fear of what his sexuality might mean, what it might unleash...? No. He would abstain.

Vulcans did not feel desire, so neither would he.

The intercom rang. When Spock called out, "Enter," his voice was low and rough from the thoughts still drifting through his mind.

The door opened, revealing Jim, who stepped in with a small, hesitant smile. He seemed oddly ill at ease, almost nervous, but still cheerful. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Spock stood promptly. "Not at all, Captain. Was there something you needed?"

Jim glanced away, and when he would not meet Spock's eyes the Vulcan felt a dim sense of surprise flare up behind his shields. "I just thought... perhaps you'd like to play some chess? It's been a while. But if you're in the middle of something..." The Captain seemed oddly reticent.

"No, Jim." Spock insisted. "Allow me to change into my uniform and I shall accompany you to the recreation room."

"Well, we could play here." Surprise managed to show itself on Spock's face this time, he was so taken aback, a single eyebrow flaring upward. Jim blushed. "I mean... if you're comfortable with that?"

They had never played in either of each other's quarters before. In fact, while they both visited each other in their quarters regularly, their meetings their rarely lasted longer than six or seven minutes. A series of chess games, the way Spock and Jim usually played, would take many hours.

They had never spent so much time together, alone, in private, before. Jim had never asked.

The human was blushing even more, and seemed to be thinking of backing towards the door. Spock could not help jumping forward a bit, raising his hand, and the sudden movement startled Jim. "That would be satisfactory, Captain." Spock forced his volatile emotions down: his shock, the thrill of pleasure that shook his core at the thought that Jim wanted to spend this time, alone, with him. "I shall return the room to its previous state, then we shall set up the game."

Jim smiled broadly, and nodded. "I'll help."

Together, they began removing the fire pot, the meditation cushion and Vulcan incense, all of the tools Spock used to distance himself from his emotions. Once they were put away, they move the furniture back. Spock easily carried the table by himself, while Jim grabbed two chairs. Then, he grabbed a third and placed it at the table as well. Spock noticed, and sent a questioning look his Captain's way. The man looked confused, before he glanced down, and gave a quiet, "Oh."

"Captain?"

"I'm... just so used to it being three of us." He gave a nervous chuckle, fingers tightening on the back of the chair. Seeing that he meant to move it, Spock reached out - and his hand covered Jim's.

The human's head shot up, eyes wide, and Spock felt the hand beneath his go very still. There was tense quiet between them.

Finally, Spock forced himself to speak. "Shall we, Jim?" He nodded to the board.

Jim seemed to have forgotten the chess set even existed. "Right. Of course." He sat, his hand still right beneath Spock's... Spock sat too, and with all the Vulcan reserve in himself, forced his hand away. Jim's fell to his lap soon after.

They played the game, shared their usual dialogue, and beneath the small table their long legs bumped each other, almost intertwined. But while both were keenly aware of the other's presence, almost enraptured by their closeness to each other... neither of them ever went long without glancing at that empty chair.


	12. Odd One Out

**Episode Twenty Two**

**Odd One Out**

**Set During and After Space Seed, This Side of Paradise, and The Devil in the Dark**

_Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:_

_Here we may reign secure; and, in my choice,_

_To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell:_

_Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven._

Jim read the lines one more time before finally allowing the book to fall shut. The cover was ornate, many years old, and read "Paradise Lost". He looked over the title for a moment before shelving it again.

It hadn't ever been a favorite of his. As far as poetical works went, Dante was much more interesting. But it was a classic, a staple of human history, and so he'd hung onto it. Suddenly it had a new kind of relevance in his life, and Jim wasn't sure if that made it more important to keep, or if he wanted to chuck it out of the nearest airlock.

Most missions were dangerous. Plenty of them had cost lives, ansd quite a few had put some of the most precious people in his life in incredible danger. Though it caused a deep ache he could not suppress, Jim powered through, recognizing that it was the nature of the job, that he'd done the best he could, that somehow, miraculously, they'd come through again.

So what was different about this mission, about Khan, that he couldn't just let go?

Jim glanced back at the book on the shelf while he began to pace.

This time, it had been on his own ship. One of his own men had betrayed him. A ghost of humanity's past, another human being, had been the enemy, not some unknown alien life force or Klingon warrior. It had been a human, on his ship, attacking his people.

Khan's image came to mind in the Captain's eyes and he felt his fists tightening. Had he done the right thing, letting that man go? He wasn't sure, but Jim couldn't imagine locking the man up. That kind of charisma, magnetism, leadership ability, lost to a jail cell? He just couldn't do it. It would probably come back to haunt him, but the truth was, something in Jim admired the man. Locking him away seemed like a disgrace.

Even as he paced, his mind never drifted far from his greatest concerns: his dearest, closest companions, who he'd come so close to losing. He'd almost died and left them; they could have easily been taken from him, killed by Khan or his men, and Jim wouldn't have been able to do a thing to stop it. Even Vulcan strength was no match for that superman. The thought of just how close it had been vibrated beneath Kirk's skin, drove him mad, and with every breath he wanted to run to those two men and make sure they really were all right.

He refrained; forced himself to stay in his quarters, to think of anything else, not to bother them with his overdue concern. This was what love did to a person. Drove them out of their reasonable mind, made them act irrationally. Spock would tell him that his overwhelming need to see him, to know with his senses that he was alive, was illogical; Bones might understand, but was currently so overworked with injuries and casualties from the mission he'd just tell Jim to scram.

No, he wasn't going to bother them. He was going to calm down, let this go, and move on with his life.

With a sigh, he paced into his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands running through his hair. Usually, on a night like this, he'd find a partner to charm and woo, wile away the hours with. It was a good distraction. But that would hardly be appropriate on the ship and they were not due for shore leave for some time. Fists clenched, Kirk let out a tense sigh and lowered his head.

Closing his eyes, he saw Khan's face, so confident, so self assured. Flashes of the day's events flew through his head.

On the bridge with Spock, listening to him ask why Jim took so much pleasure out of seeing him being proven wrong. An illogical human weakness of mine, Mr. Spock, he'd said. Just to watch those eyebrows twitch, as they always did when he teased Spock. If he'd only known just how much trouble human weaknesses would get them into.

Standing with Bones in the transporter room, taking a turn at teasing the doctor. "An old fashioned boy," he'd called Bones. It was true, and one of the man's more endearing qualities, his Georgian manners and southern drawl.

Standing in the decompression chamber. The pain, the terror. Death was always something Jim fought, something he ran from, whether he was being bombarded by weapon fire or chased by vicious alien life forms, there was always a way to fight. In a way it was as if his own survival was in his hands, that his fighting back was a means of taking control of his destiny.

There was no fighting in the chamber, no way to run. Completely at the mercy of a machine, of the man in control of it. Out of control. Out of time. Only able to think of lost chances, lost futures, of the only two people in the universe who really knew him and gave a damn about him.

Then, suddenly, miraculously, he was free. Alive. And Spock - Spock was there.

_I'm surprised to see you, Captain, though pleased._

Pleased. An actual emotion. Openly admitted to, freely felt, in reference to him. Because Jim was alive! If they hadn't been in an ever more perilous mission he might've kissed the man right there. Pleasure because he was alive... from a Vulcan like Spock that was practically a declaration of love.

The thought left him tingling all over and light-headed like a kid first falling in love. It was ridiculous, but he couldn't help it: Bones and Spock, they made him foolish, acting like a teenage boy again.

Which was why he was currently like this, unconsolable, driven mad by the thought that once again he'd come so close to losing them! That they might've died without ever knowing... how many times had he thought that? How many times had they been in the middle of a dangerous mission that had left Kirk wondering, why didn't I ever say anything?

The truth was, he wasn't afraid of losing them. He was afraid of never having them - of never sharing that closeness he was so afraid of, yet so desperately wanted.

* * *

Spock was off duty, and ensconced in an experiment in one of his laboratories. Hard at work, eyes never lifting from the equipment, he spoke.

"Computer, locations of Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy."

"Captain Kirk is in his quarters. Doctor McCoy is in med bay."

"Life signs?"

"Life signs normal."

Spock did not sigh, though his eyes did widen slightly, though his expression was still stern, with a touch of anxiety about it. It was the fourth time he had asked the question in the last hour. It was... logical, to repeatedly make an inquiry over a period of time. It was quite possible the answer could change, given the dangerous natures of their lives.

He returned his attention back to the experiment, attempting to distract himself from greater concerns. It was difficult to do so, since it was a simple experiment any ensign could have performed, and there were no greater challenges currently available. Spock was left with his churning thoughts, which weighed down upon him heavily.

It was a prominent aspect of Vulcan philosophy, the idea that all lives were precious, that life should be saved when it can. Despite this, Spock found himself despairing of the continued life of Khan, their adversary, and had half considered appealing to the Captain to change his mind.

Khan was a ruthless, powerful man with a potent intellect and a long memory. Spock could not help but fear that, one day, he might find a way to retaliate for this defeat. Logically Spock knew that once he was marooned on his new home planet it was unlikely he would ever be heard from again. But logic would not serve him this time: no matter how he reasoned it, the fear that he might seek revenge against the Captain would not abate.

No matter, he finally decided. If Khan ever sought to hurt Jim again, Spock would be there, and he would do everything and anything necessary to stop him.

"Computer, locations of Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy."

"Captain Kirk is in Commander Spock's quarters and Doctor McCoy is in his office."

Spock startled a bit, head lifting, and turned his eyes upward. Jim was in his room? He set about putting the experiment to rest, then turned for the door. Was the Captain looking for him? He took the lift to his level and took a few steps down the hall when he saw Jim come out the other hallway.

"Captain."

His friend glanced up at his title, and smiled. The purely joyous expression sent Spock's heart fluttering in his side. Jim met him halfway down the hall. "Spock."

"Were you searching for me Captain?"

"Yes, I - I'd liked to talk to you." The man's cheeks were flushed to his ears in an endearing show of shyness, his eyes averted to Spock's shoulder. If he could, Spock would have smiled at the sight, even as it brought color to his own cheeks. Kirk nodded to the door nearest them, and Spock followed him inside.

It was a small room with a few benches, tables, and chairs, with a large panorama of the space outside. Kirk approached the window, wringing his hands in front of him, nervous energy crackling beneath his skin. Spock stayed where he was. He contemplated having the computer raise the lights, but thought perhaps the Captain left the room dimly lit for a reason. He waited.

"Just a moment." The Captain stated quickly before approaching an intercom. "Captain to med bay."

"Sir?"

"Tell Dr. McCoy to meet me on deck seven in the lounge."

"Dr. McCoy is currently in surgery."

A frustrated expression came over the captain's face. "When will he be off duty?"

"Not for many hours, sir."

"All, right, forget it." Grumbling, Jim shut off the connection and stalked away, towards the window.

"Captain?"

"Nothing, it's just... I thought it might be better to talk to both of you. Or maybe it's better this way?"

"Since I do not know what 'it' is, I cannot inform you as to which is best."

"That was rhetorical, you know." Jim sounded a little flustered, but he was smiling, which was just what Spock had meant to happen. The Vulcan smiled back, in his own discrete way.

Kirk paced in front of the panorama for a time, before lifting his head. His eyes were wide, soft, almost afraid, and a spike of pain hit Spock at the sight. He was at Jim's side in an instant.

"Are you in pain? Were you injured?" He knew Jim had fought with Khan, but had the man gone to the med bay in the wake of those events? Spock found the prospect unlikely. Jim was known to delay his own needs to help others, even when it would be most logical to care for himself.

"I'm fine Spock, just - nervous." The Vulcan realized it cost Jim a great deal to say that. The Captain might not be a Vulcan, but he had his reserve just the same, and there were some emotions he loathed to show. Kirk's eyes moved to the ground, his hands still lifted in front of him, and for a moment it looked as if he might be praying

"I know this past year hasn't been easy on us, or on our - relationship." Jim began. His tongue ran over his lips, and Spock found himself zeroing in on it, for just an instant, before he took control and forced his eyes to meet Jim's. The human still wasn't looking at him, but was letting his gaze wander anywhere else instead. "It's been hard. But for my part, at least, I feel as if it's brought us closer."

"I... feel that as well."

Shocked brown eyes met his, Jim's face shooting upward. "I see. Well... that's... that's good." Clearing his throat, the Captain lowered his arms. "I guess I just... I wondered if you felt that, too."

"And the doctor as well?" Spock inquired, watching as Jim began to walk to the window. "You wish to know how he feels now, about your... relationship... as opposed to how he felt at the start of the mission?"

Jim was facing away from him. "Something like that."

"He cares for you. You already have realized this."

"I know. I mean to tell him - meant to tell him tonight."

Brow furrowing, Spock glanced away. "Then... why did you seek me out, as well?" When he looked up, Jim had turned back around, and had a handsome smile on his face.

"You know what? Maybe I should wait for McCoy." Perplexed, Spock watched Kirk stride back over, patting his shoulder as he passed. "Don't worry about it, Spock. Good night." Then he was out the door. Spock stood where he was, trying to reexamine the last few minutes for any hint of what the Captain might have been trying to convey. It was as if a puzzle had been placed before him, but he did not have all the pieces. Still, he thought determinedly as he turned to stride out the door, he would not be ignorant of Kirk's meaning for long. Whatever it was the Captain was thinking about, he would discover it soon.

* * *

It wasn't often that an away mission went smoothly or Leonard went a day on the Enterprise without feeling like tearing his hair out of his skull, but this particular mission was a doozy. Stuck in the Enterprise, being shot at by a planetary defense system, their away team missing, and an unruly ambassador with no sense of self-preservation trying to get them all killed.

He missed the Vulcan, Leonard realized, while he was listening to the idiot rant about proper diplomacy and the importance of their mission. Spock would've put this man right in his place with the carefully applied use of his irrefutable logic. It did come in handy sometimes, the doctor would begrudgingly admit.

Oh, Spock... the thought of the man, and his Captain, was enough to drive Leonard wild with worry. They had both been part of the away team, and Leonard hadn't stopped worrying about them since they missed their first check in. When he finally did hear from them, he felt no better: a society that waged war with computers? Holding their Captain and First Officer and even that whiny ambassador hostage? Leonard's blood went cold. Yeah, this was a mission made to turn his hairs grey.

Of course, with a little Jim Kirk luck, the Captain pulled a few ridiculous tricks and made a risky bet that payed off for all of them, and they all made it back onto the ship safely. Tingling from head to toe with relief, giddy with it, Leonard had rushed to be beside his friends, just to bask in the fact they were both alive, and present on the bridge.

"Captain, you almost make me believe in luck."

"Mr. Spock... you almost make me believe in miracles."

The words were light and teasing, almost overflowing with double-meaning, and in fact were so far fetched from their original topic that Leonard was sure there was a second, understated conversation going on that no one, not even Leonard, was privy too. The Doctor's good mood deflated a little as he watched them interact, joking and, in Jim's case, smiling. A small burst of bitter fire came alive in his chest and Leonard violently shoved it down.

Something about their manner... the way they were looking at one another, speaking to each other, even as Spock took mock offense at Jim's words and sauntered away, seemed different. They weren't closer to each other, no, but they seemed to be more at ease with one another, as if a wall had come down. Something had changed. Leonard's eyes leapt from one to another, even as he faked a smile, trying not to feel like his heart was crumbling in on itself.

So they were finally admitting it, realizing how much they actually cared about each other. Maybe Spock had even managed to dislodge the stick in his ass. Great. Bully for them. He was happy for them, really, his best friends falling in love.

Bah. Leonard didn't even believe the lie in his own head.

* * *

"Spock."

His friend looked up from their chess game, dark eyes half lidded, in a way that Jim would've called seductive had it been a look coming from a human. Jim found himself caught in those eyes, and when he went too long without speaking, Spock quirked an eyebrow. "Captain?"

"Sorry." Shaking his head, Jim leaned back and forced his eyes away. "I was wondering if I could ask you about... about the mission. About Lela Kalomi."

He saw the other man's shoulders stiffen, his gaze darkening further. "You may ask. I reserve the right not to answer."

Nodding, Jim agreed. "Of course." He quickly glanced over the chess board and made a half-assed move, much too concerned with the thoughts in his head to really focus on the game.

It was late; they'd been playing for hours, much longer than usual, long after both would have toddled off to bed on a typical night. But it was hardly a typical night. There had been mutiny on the Enterprise, Paradise had been found and lost, and Spock himself had looked almost dazed and confused ever since the encounter in the transporter room. He seemed... distraught, almost, though hiding it well, and Kirk knew it had to do with those damnable parasites and Lela Kalomi.

Jim was worried, really worried, in the kind of way that twisted the heart and made it hang low, like he suddenly weighed three times as much as he used to. He felt heavy - weighed down with guilt, sorrow, fear. And it all had to do with Spock.

"I suppose I should just ask." He started with a sigh. "There's no tactful, easy way to bring this up." With one last nervous clenching of his hands, Kirk forced himself to meet Spock's steady gaze. "Did you mean it? When you said you'd... felt happy for the first time? With the spores?"

He sees the moment Spock realizes the reason for his inquiry - but instead of the withdrawal, the reticence, he expected to find, Spock gives a slow nod. "It was... freeing, in a way I had never experienced. I was no longer concerned about being in control, able to simply... feel. I have never felt that way - and never will again."

"Why, Spock?" Scooting closer in the chair, Kirk found his voice drifting toward pleading. But what in the world was he pleading for? "Why can't you feel that again?"

When he replied, Spock's tone was harder than before, almost a reprimand. "You certainly know why, Captain. Or have you joined the doctor in attempting to make me change to suit your human sensibilities?" For Spock the comment was almost snarky and for Kirk, that was an alarm bell. This was a conversation that could make or break them.

"No, that's not what I meant." Kirk floundered for a moment, struggling with the enormity of what he was trying to face down, Vulcan culture and all that came with it. "This - control you keep, how you hold yourself, it is your way. I wouldn't try and change you, but if it causes you so much heartache and pain..."

"As a Vulcan, Captain -"

"Oh stuff it!" Aroused by anger and fear, Jim leapt to his feet, pacing across his quarters, one hand on his hip. "Vulcans do feel, I know it, you know it - you just have different ways of showing it. You're a private species, and you don't approve of outward displays. Fine. But I doubt most Vulcans are literally so miserable about their condition they've never felt happy - logically, doesn't that mean there's something wrong?"

Spock leapt to his feet. "Of course, Captain." His features drawn tight, mouth thin, eyes ablaze with fury. His hand on the back of his chair was denting the metal. "There must certainly be. And since the most obvious difference between other Vulcans and myself is my human blood, then it is clear the fault is with me. Is that what you are inferring?"

Jim opened his mouth then stopped. There was something not right here, something about the way Spock got so mad, so quick, that hints that this is a sore spot. He'd known that trying to talk about this would probably piss the Vulcan off, but not like this. He thought of the transporter room, of all the horrible things he'd said, and realized that perhaps there was more to those wounds than he'd first thought. "Maybe. I'm not saying that because you're half human you can't act and be like a Vulcan, just - maybe you need something else, something... different. To accommodate both sides." The furious look wasn't fading, and Jim suddenly knew he was losing Spock and if he didn't change the direction of this fast, it'd be over, perhaps for good. "Spock, listen!" Kirk approached him, almost reaching up to touch his shoulders but holding back at the last minute. "You're half human - it's fact! And human needs are different from Vulcans. Have you ever thought that maybe you aren't happy because you've only been trying to be Vulcan, and not human?"

"Indeed, it does seem as if you have collaborated with the doctor." Spock spoke dryly, distantly. "It is of no consequence, Captain. I do not care for happiness. Vulcans do not -"

"Damn it, Spock are you even listening to me!?" Unable to stop himself, Jim reached up and shook the man, or at least tried to. He gripped Spock tight but only managed to move himself. It was like trying to shake a brick wall. "I'm not trying to insult your Vulcan honor, or - or tell you off! I just want to help. I want you to be happy."

"Are your wants of greater importance than mine?"

"Of course not, Spock!"

Brown eyes blazed, and Spock shook off Jim's hold. "Then why can you not comprehend that I do not want - I cannot want - to act as I did before, with Lela, to be that way outside the influence of the spores?"

"I'm not saying you should, Spock, damn it!" Stamping his foot in frustration, Jim threw his head around, gaze flying, trying to think of what to say. "I just... maybe there's merit to what you had down there, if you were so happy? If letting go of your control, be allowed to feel more openly made you happy maybe you should indulge that more often!"

"What do you propose? That I start to go cloud-gazing with my fellow officers, or ignore orders to go climb trees?"

"You are being purposefully obtuse." Jim spat, putting both hands on his hips. He stood between Spock and the door, and wasn't moving until they finally reached an understanding that didn't include coming to blows. "It wasn't the cloud-gazing, or the trees, or the spores or Lela that made you happy. It was the fact that the spores made you comfortable enough around Lela to feel free around her. Don't you see? You don't have to be emotional around the crew, or the officers, or anybody you don't want. Just - find some people you do trust and care about and find a way to open up with them." Jim sighed, feeling his exhaustion lower his voice and soften his tone. "Humans need that Spock, that sense of camaraderie and trust that means we can let go around people. If we don't have it, we go crazy, we're miserable. We need friends Spock."

At that, Spock's look turned to ice, his stiff posture somehow stiffening further. "Vulcans have no need for friends Captain. Vulcans have no friends."

Jim's heart shattered inside his chest, the pieces raining down into his stomach, where they weighed him down with grief. "I thought we were friends, Spock."

His supposed 'friend' said nothing. Spock blew past him like a gust of winter wind, frigid and uncaring, and the door sliding shut behind him seemed to echo like a vault door, sealing Jim inside with his misery.

* * *

"Kill it, Captain, quick!"

Spock stood in a dimly lit tunnel, moving through the awkward, cramped space as fast as he could, feeling his heart beat rise. For a moment he considered forcing his body to calm, then realized that sparing the concentration for the action was simply unimportant. Jim's life was at stake.

Since their altercation after the events on Omicron Ceti III, Spock and Jim hadn't resumed their traditional behaviors towards one another. They were... civil, and on the surface, perhaps, no fault could be found. The Doctor was the only member of the ship who seemed truly cognizant of the difference, and had said as much to him in the turbo lift a few days before.

"I dunno what happened," McCoy had drawled, rocking on his heels. "But you two had a good thing going. Fix it. Lord knows we need more good things around here." With that ambiguous comment, he had left. It had been stranger - stranger still that McCoy had been so unusually distant before that. Their arguments had dwindled, their interaction dying down, and in turn the doctor's spirit seemed to have wilted. Spock could not understand it, and in truth, was so preoccupied with his disagreement and estrangement from Kirk that he'd thought little of it.

Spock did not know how to 'fix it'. He had thought that Jim was the one person on the ship who did not expect him to be what he could not. Yet, even the Captain found fault with his ways. How could he be friends with the man, knowing Jim was disappointed? That he wanted Spock to be something other than he was? No; he could not.

A part of the Vulcan rose up in anger, lashing out. Telling him that he was purposefully misunderstanding Jim - that the Captain did not want Spock to change, he just wanted him to adapt, to be happy! This rebellious part of himself sounded suspiciously like his mother.

Spock rounded a corner and found Jim, standing with sweat pouring down his dirt-laden face, his phaser trained on the beast in the cave with him. Spock immediately lifted his phaser, ready to take a life, all for the sake of one man. Not his friend, Spock had said. He did not need friends. What arrogance. To pretend he was indifferent to Jim, only to throw his beliefs and all of Surak's precepts aside as soon as Jim was in danger.

"No, Spock!" Glancing to Jim, Spock saw his hand held up, restraining. Reluctantly, Spock lowered his arm, moved to Kirk's side, vibrating with the effort. Every moment he stood watching the deadly creature, only mere feet from Jim, he found himself thrumming with the pent-up desire to simply destroy it, to erase the threat to his dear one's existence.

Dear one...? Spock frowned slightly, forced the thoughts away. He could not deal with this, not while Jim was still not safe.

* * *

It was long past time Leonard hit the hay, and he was only just hanging up his badge and clocking out, so to speak. Worn to the bone with exhaustion, the doctor sighed and rubbed his weary neck as he headed out of sick bay, trudging towards his room.

His mind drifted, wandered, as he struggled along. What a day. Saved the life of a silicon life form - cure a rainy day, indeed. A little smile came to his face then, and he chuckled as he ambled along. He was tired, sure, but it was a good tired. Satisfied and proud.

Leonard was halfway into the turbo lift, more than ready to head to his room and crash, when the sound of the Captain's voice made him stop. What was Jim doing up? The man had been driving himself crazy working, and Leonard had told him he needed to sleep more. Frowning, Leonard stalked towards the man's voice, his own weariness forgotten.

He turned a corner down the hall, ready to storm right up to the man and give him a piece of his mind - and stopped. Jim wasn't alone. Spock was there, and the two of them were stand so close they were breathing the same air.

"I wasn't sure what you thought of me, anymore." Jim spoke, his tone lacking its usual confidence and bluster. The man was wringing his hands even, head down, nervous as a newborn foal. "After my - outburst in the transporter room... and our argument..."

"Jim." Spock - cold, withdrawn Spock - spoke with a warm, enveloping tone, like velvet, that wrapped around the ears and soothed hurts and pains. "I realized immediately what the purpose of your words had been at Omicron Ceti III. I realize you did not mean them. As for what you said later that evening, I... confess I was less understanding than I could have been. I was... frightened."

"Frightened? Of what?"

"Of... disappointing you." Spock spoke slowly, and it was his turn to appear nervous, lowering his head. Jesus H Christ, he was blushing a soft green, like summer grass. Leonard felt his own face flush and his heartbeat skyrocketed. "All my life on Vulcan I attempted to be as logical and... Vulcan in my behavior as I could, and failed. I disappointed my father, my teachers, brought shame upon my community, and invited the ire of my classmates. If I follow your invitation to... open myself, to another... I am afraid I will fail again. That where Vulcans found me to be too human.. humans will find me too Vulcan."

"You could never be too much of anything for me." Kirk admitted, then suddenly turned red, as if he hadn't meant to say it. "That is - you're my friend. I'll always care about you, and I'm not going to judge you for however you act. I just want you to be happy."

Spock nodded, slowly, and Leonard knew that look in his eye. It was calculating. "I realized this, in hindsight. Fear, like many emotions, compromises logic, and in that conversation my logic was quite certainly compromised." In any other situation Leonard would've paid to hear that. But here, now, it seemed much too personal, too wounding for the Vulcan to admit, for Leonard to ever have wished for it. And this is personal, deeply personal. Leonard realized he should've left five minutes ago but he was rooted to the spot, incapable of making himself move anywhere.

The two of them were practically magnets being drawn together but neither of them saw it, each floundering in indecision when it was clear they both wanted the same thing. Come on, Jim, Leonard thought, kiss him. He's a damn good kisser.

"Spock - you realize that when I... what I meant by finding someone to trust, to be open with..." Jim licked his lips, and Leonard watched Spock's eyes trail after that movement. If the Vulcan had been a dainty blonde, Jim would've noticed the signs of passion and jumped him already. Stop being so dense, Captain! The doctor thought furiously, even as his heart fell further and further into his gut. "That person... I could do that, for you, if you want."

"You wish to take on the role that Lela Kalomi so briefly held?"

For a minute Leonard wasn't sure Spock understood what he was insinuating, but by the look in his eyes, he did. He knew exactly what he was saying. Kirk's stunned silence meant he understood it, too, and began to stammer an incredulous reply when he finally found his voice.

"Yes - yes I - that is... I'd love to." Jim swallowed, cheeks redder than apples, before he revealed a big smile. "I love you."

Spock's eyes widened, his nostrils flared, and the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. He didn't say the words - didn't need to. They were clear in his face, his eyes, in every line of his body, angled toward Kirk and standing so closely to him. The gravity they'd been fighting finally won - and they fell together, and kissed.

That finally snapped McCoy out of his hypnosis, and he turned and fled, trying to be as quiet as he could but not trying very hard. He ran in an empty daze through the halls to the med bay, stumbled in drunkenly, looking for all the world like a lost soul, a dying man.

Chapel happened to walk past. "Leonard, I thought you - oh dear god, what happened?" She was at his side in an instant and he didn't have the energy to shoo her away, not today. Their kiss was playing repeatedly through his head, searing itself into his brain, tempting, frustrating. What you will never have.

"Just - give me air." Finally he swatted her away, stumbling to his feet and rushing to his office, locking the door behind him. He wavered and weaved across the small space, gasping for breath, trying to sort out his head. Why was this affecting him so? He'd known it was inevitable, anyone alive knew it was inevitable, the two of them were made for each other. They were like those obnoxious childhood sweethearts who finished each other's sentences and wore each others clothes to sleep in, perfect and romantic and impossibly good - all those things in the world Leonard couldn't, wouldn't have, things he would soil and destroy if he touched them.

Finally the doctor fell into his chair, and the words penetrated his brain: Spock and Jim are together. And I'm alone. He fell, sobbing, into the crooks of his arms onto the desk, letting the deluge pour out in a rare show of agony, all the pent up pain releasing as that kiss continued flashing before his eyes, painful and beautiful, impossible to forget, painful to remember.


	13. Future Perfect

**Episode Twenty-Six**

_**Future Perfect**_

**Set Post Errand of Mercy**

_Many Decades Later: Deep Space Nine_

"There I had him," The Klingon, elderly yet speaking and gesturing with all the passion of youth, "Captain James T. Kirk, captured in my military installation!"

"Kor, we do not care for your endless prattling." Another Klingon spat, his dry tone indicating that this was a story he'd heard before, told many times in many ways.

"Don't bother, Koloth." A third replied. "When it comes to Kirk, he won't shut up."

Between the three, grinning broadly, Jadzia Dax watched their interaction with clear amusement.

"It was a battle of wills," Kor continued, oblivious to his friend's distaste, only having eyes for the captive member of his audience, Jadzia. "A battle of wits! We were not permitted to truly fight - the Organians, pitiful sheep that they were, refused to allow it! They were not humanoid as we are, but something... more." His gaze grew a little wistful. "Being unable to battle Kirk... is one of my greatest regrets."

The four of them were sitting in Quark's, each nursing a drink, and enjoying peaceful camaraderie.

"Well, Kor," Jadzia began, once she recognized his story was done. "Maybe you'll get your chance. He might be here today."

"Truly!" Kor's passion alit again, the Klingon sat up straighter, though the moment was not smooth since he'd been drinking half the evening. "What do you know Jadzia?" He slid forward in his seat, and Jadzia did the same, the both of them leaning between their two friends.

With a sly smirk, Jadzia answered him. "Admiral Leonard McCoy is on his way here, to DS9, to meet with Julian, and the rumor goes that where you find one, you find the other two." Kor didn't seem to understand what Jadzia meant, so the woman continued. "Kirk might be on his way here."

Kor was suddenly beaming, sitting fully up, while his fellow Klingons groaned their complaints.

"Damn that Kirk!" Koloth shouted suddenly. "Damn him, and those blasted tribbles!"

"That sounds like another story," Jadzia glanced at him but the Klingon turned away.

"He will not tell." Kang smirked, chuckling. "He is humiliated by the human trick that filled his ship with tribbles!"

Jadzia's eyebrows shot up. "Okay, now I have to know!" Her wide eyes happened to gaze past her friend's shoulder, landing on the doorway to Quark's, where a nervous Medical Officer stood fidgeting. She grinned. Raising a friendly hand, Jadzia waved Julian Bashir over. The man was frowning, brow furrowed, and he sped through the bar to Jadzia's side in a hurry. "How are you, Julian?"

"Horrible." The man grunted, pulling up a chair as Jadzia scooted over.

"I thought you were excited about this." Jadzia glanced over her friend, noticing the sweat building on his brow. "When you first got the news, you were thrilled."

"I was - am!" Julian insisted, running a hand through his hair. "To be hand-picked by Admiral McCoy himself to be his protege - it's an honor!" He laughed, but it was tinged with panic. "And it's driving me mad! I've rearranged the whole med bay, double checked all my officer's work, cleaned every utensil -"

"Did your co-workers finally grow tired of your panicking and kick you out?"

Sighing, Julian let his head fall. "Something like that."

"So, this McCoy.." Kor began, crossing his arms. "He may be with Kirk?"

"He was Kirk's CMO on the Enterprise." Jadzia explained. "The two of them - and Ambassador Spock - have shared a Vulcan mating bond for more than fifty years."

"If Captain Kirk is any sort of worthy mate, then he will be with this McCoy." Grinning, Kor slowly stood... or wavered. "And so after so many decades, I shall be able to face James T. Kirk, once again! And we shall fight!" He raised his glass, drained it, and slammed it upon the table.

"What's going on?" Julian leaned towards Jadzia, who answered out of the corner of her mouth.

"Kor's celebrating an old rivalry."

The man eyed the Klingons a little warily, then let it slide. "Do you really think Admiral Kirk will be with McCoy?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. He is supposed to be moving into the station for a while. Why wouldn't he bring his husband along?"

"What about Ambassador Spock?"

"Last I heard he was still on Romulus, so I doubt it."

"I guess you're right." The doctor sighed, placing his chin on one hand. "It's fun to imagine though." His face lit up, the stress which had been laying so heavily upon him lifting somewhat. "Dr. McCoy, Admiral Kirk, and Ambassador Spock, all living here, on the station." His gaze drifted upward. "Sisko would probably lose his mind."

Jadzia chuckled, drifted back to her drink, before her gaze snapped up to the door again. "Julian."

"Odo would be overworked trying to provide security - I'm sure men like that have plenty of enemies."

"Julian!"

The second outcry was sharp and ecstatic, and finally caught Julian's attention. His gaze followed Jadzia's gaze, and settled on three notable figures at the door of Quark's, who simply by the merit of their presence, the energy they exuded, commanded all the attention of the room.

Jadzia's eyes danced over all three, but Dr. Bashir had eyes for only one person.

"That's him!" He gawked. "That's Admiral McCoy!"

* * *

James Kirk settled at the bar with a heavy sigh, allowing a little of his exhaustion to show. "Tell me again why we had to take a frieghter to get here."

"We agreed to take a Vulcan trading vessel under pseudonyms instead of a Federation starship in order to avoid, as Leonard put it, 'all the hoopla'." Spock replied to the rhetorical question with all the seriousness he would any question; a habit which had, after many years, become an endearing trait to his bondmates.

"What's the matter, Jim?" Leonard slide up onto the stool beside the once-Captain, grinning. "Getting too old for space travel?"

The matter of their age was very strange. All three were close to one hundred fifty years old; but where Spock was close to entering Vulcan middle age, and his appearance reflected that, his two companions looked much younger and were certainly more mobile. In fact, by their looks, it appeared as if they had not aged in many decades, their bodies frozen somewhere in their fiftieth or sixtieth decade.

"Of course not." The man immediately shot back with a light grin. "Just... missing the comfort of the Enterprise, that's all."

"Perhaps you should have taken Captain Picard's offer." Spock took the stool on Kirk's other side, shifting his long billowing Vulcan robes around his stool.

Jim paused for a moment, before slowly shaking his head. "No. I made a promise." Eyes lifted, he let a warm, passionate gaze pass over both of them. "I intend to keep it."

The barkeeper came by, a Ferengi eager to smooze to them for their money but seemingly ignorant of their identities, much to their contentment. The three order their drinks and settled into the peaceful silence that long decades of friendship and love had given them, before Spock turned his gaze.

"Leonard." The doctor glanced up at Spock, who had a clearly amused glint in his eyes. He was looking over the bar, glancing at a table not far away, where three Klingon warriors, a Trill federation officer, and a young human doctor were sitting. Spock's Vulcan hearing had clearly picked up on what was being said, as his eyes settled on the excitable human. "I believe there is someone here who would like to meet you."

* * *

"Dr. Bashir?"

Julian looked up and his eyes went wide as they met the brilliant blue, discerning gaze of Leonard McCoy. Immediately, the younger man leapt to his feet, rubbing his hands on his pants before extending them to meet McCoy's.

"It's an honor to meet you, sir." Julian beamed, giving a shaky chuckle as Leonard shook his hand - hard.

"Don't call me 'sir', I'll start feeling old." His harsh tone was softened by a slight smile, miles more than what he would've done in his youth. "Call me Leonard." He stepped back and gestured to his fellows. "This here's Jim Kirk." The blond shook Julian's hand, too - but where the doctor had been forceful, Kirk was almost seductive in the way he gently clasped his hand. "And Spock." The Vulcan merely gave a half-bow from where he stood, and Julian awkwardly returned it.

"It - It's an honor, truly!" Realizing he was just nervously parroting himself, Julian fought a blushed and kept going. "Um - this is my fellow officer, and friend, Lt. Jadzia Dax."

She stood, a sly smile on her face as McCoy took her hand - much more gently, Julian noticed. "A pleasure to meet you." McCoy drawled.

Jadzia beamed, like someone with a secret she was dying to share. "We have met before... though I did look different then, and my name was Emony, not Jadzia." she could see the confusion on the doctor's face - and not a moment later, the dawning of realization.

"O - Oh! Emony!" The doctor flushed scarlet and grinned like a schoolboy, his other free hand rising to cover hers. "Well, I'll be."

"Don't tell me!" Jim started laughing, glancing between them. "For once, we've bumped into one of your old flames, not mine!"

"Not my fault you've seduced half the galaxy!" McCoy rolled his eyes but he was still grinning as he let Jadzia's hand go.

Julian, still beside Jadzia, was feeling a tad jealous that his friend had taken all the attention so quickly. "Truthfully," Julian mumbled. "We've both met all three of them, albeit in a strange way." Three sets of eyes flew to his, obviously confused, and suddenly Julian remembered that whole incident was supposed to be a secret.

"It's a long story!" Jadzia cut in. "Which we'll gladly share sometime - in private." She eyed Julian pointedly.

"Captain Kirk!" Suddenly the spotlight was taken off Julian, as all three Klingon warriors stood.

Kirk, who had never truly turned his back on the Klingons, raised his gaze and gave a slight nod. Spock and McCoy were close to him, mere inches away, each poised to move at a moment's notice. Their movements shadowed Kirk's, and they kept their eyes on him as he turned to the Klingons. But he merely gave an easy smile. "Kor."

That simple recognition was enough to bolster the proud spirit of a drunken, aged Klingon warrior. Even better, Kirk turned his gaze on Koloth and Kang in turn, giving each the same treatment. While Jadzia, Julian, Leonard, and Spock stood ready to intervene, they need not have - the reunion did not end in any battle of any sort, but found Kirk pulling up a chair, and joining their revelry.

* * *

It did not take long for the trio to settle into their new home, and for their arrival to spread like waves through Deep Space Nine. Not an hour into unpacking into their new quarters, the chime of the bell at their door rang out.

"Who do ya think it is, well wishers, or Federation officers?" McCoy drawled as he took out their bedding from one of the crates.

"Or both?" Kirk added, extending his arms in a shrug as he moved to the door. When it slid opened, it did in fact reveal a Federation officer. Glancing at his rank, Kirk extended his hand and smiled. "Captain Sisko I presume?"

"Admiral Kirk." The man shook his head and for all intents and purposes seemed cool and collected; but there was a shine in his eyes that spoke of excitement. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

Jim waved a dismissive hand. "Call me Jim." Then he stepped aside. "Want to come in and meet the family? We haven't really set up yet, but the couch, at least, is in working order."

Sisko stepped in after a moment's hesitation, with all the eagerness of a boy meeting his heroes. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of Spock. "Ambassador." He bowed slightly, and Spock returned it. "I had thought you were on Romulus?"

"I was - and I still travel there frequently."

Confusion came over the captain then. "I'd think sneaking in and out that way would be rather difficult. Not that I'm not glad you are able to be with your family..." He gestured to the other denizens of the room. "But wouldn't it be safer to stay enscounced in the rebel movement on Romulus?"

"In normal circumstances, your logic would be correct." Spock allowed, never ceasing in unpacking their belongings, which he was arranging on the dining table. "But these are not normal circumstances. I am in a position where I can, quite safely, come and go as I please from Romulus."

"I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times," Leonard grumbled as he set his load aside, putting his hands together in prayer as his gaze went skyward. "Thank Jesus H. Christ for Jean-Luc Picard!"

It wasn't said loudly, but the room was quiet enough that Sisko heard it, and he turned an inquisitive eye towards the man. By then, both Kirk and Spock had leveled their lover with disapproving stares, but McCoy seemed unrepentant. But Sisko got the hint, and let the subject drop.

"Well, Captain, would you mind giving us a tour?"

He would not, of course; he was more than happy to lead one of his greatest heroes and three of the Federations most famous and valued officers around on a tour of his station.

* * *

Two weeks into their stay had found them settling into a routine, where all three met for lunch at Quark's as often as they could, two or three times a week, however their schedules allowed. Leonard was often busy in the med bay and with Julian; the 'internship' the Federation had set up for the younger doctor was intense and took up a lot of both men's time. Spock, true to his word, moved back and forth from the station to Romulus often.

"I'm worried about you, Jim." Leonard said one day at their usual lunch. "Spock and I have projects, things to do, but you haven't been doing anything, and of the three of us you're the one that needs entertained the most!"

A sly look came over the blond and he shrugged. "The two of you entertain me plenty." The suggestive eyebrow lift sealed the deal and the man laughed at the blushes that came over both his lover's faces.

"He has a point, Jim." Spock redirected them back to the topic. "You are not a man to 'rest on your laurels'."

"True," Jim nodded slowly. "Which is why I have been working on something." He could see the interest, the curiosity, in both men's eyes, and in the way Leonard leaned forward slightly.

"So? Don't leave us hanging!" The southerner insisted. "What is it?"

Kirk remained quiet for a moment more; perhaps to draw out the tension, or perhaps because of the slight nerves that made themselves known in the way Jim's eyebrows drew together. But then he pulled open the bag at his side, and removed a pad, which he handed to Leonard. Spock moved closer to his human lover to look over his shoulder.

"What is this, Jim?" Leonard narrowed his eyes, scanning the contents of the pad.

"I've been... writing." If he wasn't nervous before, Jim clearly was now. His gaze averted, one hand fidgeting on the table. "About us."

Two heads shot up to stare at him. "What?"

"It's just this idea I had. Jean-Luc and I were talking..." Jim shrugged, still looking away. "He was telling me about his own struggles, about the things he'd seen his own officers go through... you know that Will Riker and Deanna Troy were together once?"

Leonard gave a barking laugh. "You just have to look at 'em to know that."

Jim inclined his head. "Well, they aren't anymore. They're still in love, but - regulations and all that."

Spock's gaze widened in realization. "You are attempting to tell our story in order to inspire the younger generation."

Just as it looked as if Leonard was going to reply, his head spun; he caught sight of his protege entering the bar and waving at him, and lifted his own hand in reply. Spock and Jim followed his gaze, and they watched as Julian took a seat at a table with a Cardassian man.

"Them, too." Jim nodded towards the table, and that drew his lover's attentions back to him. "Love between fellow officers... love between people of different species, different cultures..." Turning to face Spock and Leonard again, Jim finished with a thoughtful, whimsical look. "It took us years to move past our problems and come together. I'd like others to know it doesn't have to be that hard."

Leonard's eyes, still on Julian and the Cardassian, narrowed. "Y'know, I hadn't thought of it before, but now that you mention it Jim, the two of them are something, aren't they?"

Laughing, Jim looked at them again. "Well, all they do is argue and trade witty banter - and I think I remember a certain other inter-species couple falling in love that way?

Both his lovers blushed again, and Jim laughed harder.

Still bright red, Leonard looked back at the pad Jim had given him. "'Best Destinies: A Tale of Love and Loss by James T. Kirk'. So, what it's about?"

"It covers the first five year mission - how we met, fell in love, fell apart, all of it." Jim reached out and took the pad back, tucking it away. "I didn't write about every mission because I didn't want to drone on forever, but I think I got the good parts. Once I was done and looked back at it, I realized, there was something missing." Gaze lifting, his eyes settled on Spock and Leonard. "I think you two should add your experiences in."

"You - want me to write? About us?" Leonard spat. Then he shook an incredulous hand at Spock. "And him? About his feelings?"

"It would make for an interesting exercise." Spock admitted, seemingly thoughtful. If the determined look on his face was anything, he appeared to already have been convinced.

"Come on, Bones." Jim persisted. "Whatever we're not comfortable with sharing, we can leave out."

Snorting, Leonard crossed his arms. "Even leaving stuff out, the bare bones of the story is pretty damn invasive."

Jim nodded. "You're right. But I think it'll be worth it. We let so many insecurities and fears get in the way of us that we lost years of time - almost decades." He turned his head again. "I don't want them to go through that."

Again, Leonard and Spock followed Jim's gaze to Julian's table. By the excited, animated look on his face, he was deeply into the conversation with the Cardassian, a man named Garak, who seemed equally interested if somewhat calmer. The three men watched them for just a moment, before Leonard sighed.

"Fine." He grumbled, and Jim beamed. "It's not gonna be a pretty story, that's for sure. I mean - you remember how the five year mission ended, don't you?"

Jim gave a snort. "How could I forget?" Then he shrugged. "But those kind of slip ups make the best cautionary tales, don't they? And it turned out all right in the end." Jim smiled, looking to Spock and Leonard. Leonard couldn't help but smile back.

"Yes." Spock finally spoke up, glancing at his bond mates. "I do believe it did."


End file.
